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r, 



LIFE 



OF 



AviLLiAM wiirr. 



M E M I K S 



OF 



THE LIFE 



OF 






WILLIAM W I R T , 



ATTORNEY GE>-ERAr. OF THK (NITKU STATES. 



B V 



JOHN P. KENNEDY 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 



VOL. L 



PHILADELPHIA: 
LEA AND B L A N C H A R I > 

1849. 






EsTEEED, according to the Art of Congress, in the year 1.S49, by 

LEA AND BLANCHARD, 

n the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



PRINTED BY J. P. TOV, 



TO THE 



YOUNG MEN OF THE UNITED STATES, 



WHO SEEK FOR GU^DA^fCE TO AN HONORABLE FAME, 



THE SE MEMOIRS 



ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 



THE AUTHOR. 
Baltimore, April 12, 1349. 



VOL. 1 — 1* 



CONTENTS VOL. I 



Introduction 13 

CHAPTER I. 

Parentage of William Wirt.— His Birth.— Will of Jacob Wirt.— Patri- 
mony. — Autobiographical Memoir of Ten Years. — BlaJensburg. — The 
Schoolmaster. — INIother and Aunt. — A Thunderstorm. — Old Inhabitants of 
Bladensburg. — The Dancing Master. — A Ghost Story. — Performance on the 
►Slack Wire. — Lee's Legion. — The Young Drummer. — Mr. Rogers' School in 
Georgetown. — Mrs. Schoollield. — Mrs. Love and her Family. — Rural Life 
and its Images. — Mr. Dent's School, Charles County. — Alexander Camp- 
bell. — The Peace. — Day Dreams. — Colonel Lee. — Mr. Hunt's School in 
Montgomery. — Early Acquaintances. — Music. — A Fox Hunt. ... 15 

CHAPTER II. 

Imaginative Temperament. — His Studies. — Wholesome Influence of Mr. 
Hunt. — His Library. — Sketches by Cruse. — Verse Making. — First Literary 
Effort, a Prose Satire on the Usher. — Its Consequences. — A School Inci- 
dent. — A Victory. — Visit to the Court House of Montgomery. — Mr. Dor- 
sey. — The Moot Court. — Its Constitution. — School Exercises. ... 41 

CHAPTER III. 

Friends. — Peter A. Carnes. — Benjamin Edwards. — Niuian Edwards. — 
Becomes a Tutor in Mr. Edwards' Family, — Useful Employment of his 
Time. — Studies. — Journey to Georgia. — Returns to Montgomery and Studies 
Law with W. P. Hunt. — Removes to Virginia. — Studies with Mr. Swann. — 
Is admitted to Practise by the Culpepper Court 49 

CHAPTER IV. 

His Library. — First Case. — Difficulties Attending it. — Is assisted by a 
Friend. — A Triumph. — His Companionable (lualites. — Habits of Desultory 
Study. — Practises in Albemarle 57 



S CONTENTS 

CHAPTER V. 

Albemarle Friends.— Dr. C4ilmer.— Mr. Jefferson^, Mr. Madison and Mr. 
Monroe.— James Barbour.— Marries Mildred Gilmer.— Pen Park.— Dr. Gil- 
mer's Library. — Hospitality of the Country. — Dangers to which he was 
exposed.- Character of the Bar.— His Popularity and Free Habits.— Francis 
Walker Gilmer.— Thomas W. Gilmer, late Secretary of the Navy.— Dabney 
Carr and His Family.— Anecdote of Barbour, Carr and Wirt.— State of 
Flu.— Death of Dr. Gilmer.— Rose Hill.— Letter to Carr 63 

CHAPTER VL 

Happy Life at Pen Park.— Misfortune.— Death of his Wife.— Religious 
Impressions. — Determines to Remove to Richmond. — Elected Clerk to the 
House of Delegates. — New Acquaintances. — Patrick Henry. — Resolutions of 
Ninety-Eight. — Re-elected Clerk at two succeeding Sessions. — Temptations 
to Free Living. — ^Trial of Callender for a Libel under the Sedition Law. — 
Wirt, Hay and Nicholas defend Him. — Course of the Trial.— A Singular 
Incident. — Judge Chase. — Nullification. — Fourth of July Oration. — Embar- 
rassed Elocution "ii 

CHAPTER Vn. 

Elected to the Post of Chancellor. — Value of this Appointment. — Reasons 
for Accepting it. — Col. Robert Gamble. — Courtship. — A Theatrical Inci- 
dent. — Second Marriage. — Removes to Williamsburg. — Letters to Carr. — 
Resigns the Chancellorship and determines to go to Norfolk. .... 87 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Commences Practice in Norfolk. — Professional Success. — Letter to Pope. — 
Comments on the Parsimony of Judicial Salaries. — Birth of his Eldest 
Child. — Religious Sentiments. — Trial of Shannon. — Singular Case of Cir- 
cumstantial Evidence. — Removes his Residence to Norfolk 101 

CHAPTER IX. 

The British Spy. — Enemies made by it. — Letters to Carr, with some An- 
ecdotes connected with the Publication of the Spy. — His Opinion of that 
^Vork 109 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER X. 



Success at Norfolk. — Project of a Biographical Work.— Patrick Henry. — 
St. George Tucker. — Letter to this Gentleman. — The Rainbow. — Letter to 
Edwards 124 



CHAPTER XL 



Increasing Reputation. — Dislike of Criminal Trials. — Meditates a Return 
to Richmond. — An Old Fashioned Wedding at Williamsburg. — Letters. — A 
Distaste for Political Life 140 



CHAPTER XIL 

Removes to Richmond. — A Professional Case of Conscience. — Defence 
of Swinney. — Chancellor Wythe. — Judge Cabell. — Letter to Mrs. W. on 
Swinney's Case. — Fondness for Music. — Letter to F. W. Gilmer. — Recollec- 
tions of Pen Park, 150 



CHAPTER XIIL 

Aaron Burr brought to Richmond. — Indicted for Treason. — Wirt retained 
as Counsel by the Government. — The Trial. — Some of its Incidents. — The 
Asperity of Counsel. — Extracts of the Argument 161 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Burr's Trial Continued. — The Principal Argument in the Case.— Notices of 
Wirt's Share in it. — Mr. Mercer's Testimony. — His Description of Blanuer- 
hasset's Residence. — Other Incidents of the Trial 177 



CHAPTER XV. 

Public Agitation.— The Affair of the Leopard and Chesapeake. — Expec- 
tation of War. — Fourth of July. — Letter to Judge Tucker. — Wirt Projects 
the Raising of a Legion. — Correspondence with Carr in regard to it. — The 
Project meets Opposition. — -Finally Abandoned. — War Arrested. — The 
Embargo > 207 



10 CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Increasing Reputation.— Mr. Jefferson Proposes to him to go into Con- 
gress.— He Declines.— Determines to Adliere to his Profession.— He Defends 
Mr. Madison Against the Protest.— Letters of "One of the People."— Unex- 
pectedly put in Nomination for the Legislature.— Letter to Mrs. W. on this 
Event.— His Repugnance to it.— Is Elected.— Correspondence with Mr. Mon- 
roe. — Letters to Carr and Edwards 226 

CHAPTER XVII. 

His Service in the Legislature.— Preference for Private Life.— Letters to 
Edwards.— Literary Dreams.- Acrimony of Party PoUtics.— Education.— 
Misgivings in regard to the Government 259 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Resumes the purpose of Writing the Biography of Patrick Henry.— 
Consults Mr. Jefferson on this Subject.— Letters to Carr.— New England 
Oratory. — The Sentinel. — Letter to B. Edwards. — Death of Col. Gamble. — 
The Old Bachelor. — Letters Concerning it 275 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Old Bachelor.— Contributors to it.— Character of the Work.— Amusing 
Correspondence between Wirt and Carr in Reference to it.— Carr 's Promo- 
tion to the Bench. — The post of Attorney General Vacant. — Wirt Spoken 
of. — His Thoughts upon it. — Letter to his Daughter.— Employed by Mr. 
Jefferson in the Batture Case. — Correspondence with Mr. J. in reference to 
Duane.— Mr. Madison and Mr, Gallatin -295 

CHAPTER XX. 

The War. — Its Excitements. — Wirt Declines a Commission in the Army. — 
Volunteer Soldiery. — Life of Henry. — Burning of the Richmond Theatre. — 
Governor Smith. — Carr Appointed Chancellor,and Removes to Winchester. — 
Letters to him. — W. Attempts to Write a Comedy. — Judge Tucker's Opinion 
of the Influence of such Literature on Professional Character. — Difficulty of 
Comedy. — Professional Dignity. — Richmond Bar. — Anecdote of a Trial 
between Wickhara and Hay. — Epigram. — Warden. — Letter to Carr. — Tired 
of the Old Bachelor. — Biography. — Letter from Judge Tucker on this Sub- 



CONTENTS. 11 

ject. — Incidents of the War. — British Ascend to City Point. — Wirt Raises a 
Corps of Flying Artillery.— Letter to Mrs. W.— To Dabney Carr.— Gilmer, 
a Student of Law. — Letter of Advice to him 333 

CHAPTER XXL 

Contentment. — Prosperous Condition. — Letters to Carr. — To Mr. Lomax. — 
Opinion of Cicero. — Views of the War. — Extravagant Opinions. — Letter to 
Gilmer. — Campaigning. — Insubordination of the Militia. — Visit to Washing- 
ton. — Congress. — Unfavorable Aspect of Affairs. — Madison. — Webster. — 
Aversion to Public Life. — Engagement in the Supreme Court. — Post- 
poned 365 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Visits Washington to Attend the Court. — Returns. — Peace Restored by the 
Treaty of Ghent. — Letter to Gilmer. — Resumes the Biography of Henry. — 
Difficulties of this Work. — Scantiness of Material. — The Author weary of it. — 
Letter to Carr on the Subject. — Dabney Carr the Elder. — The Origin of the 
Continental Congress. — Peter Carr. — Letters to Carr and Gilmer. — George 
Hay Resigns the Post of District Attorney. — Wirt Recommends Upshur to 
the President. — Moderation of Pohtical Feeling. — Mr. Madison Appoints 
Wirt to the Office. — Correspondence in Reference to this Appointment. — 
Makes his Debut in the Supreme Court. — Encounters Pinkney. — His 
Opinion of Pinkney. — Letter to Gilmer. — Letter to Carr on "The Path of 
Pleasure," and his Opinion of this Dramatic Attempt. — Correspondence with 
Mr.^ Jefferson on the Subject of the Biography. — Letter to Richard 
Morris 384 



INTRODUCTION. 



A NARRATIVE of the life of William Wirt will present us 
the career of one who, springing from an humble origin, was 
enabled to attain to high distinction amongst his countr5'men. 
Whether the incidents of that career are sufficiently striking to 
communicate any high degree of interest to his biography, the 
reader will determine for himself in the perusal of these pages. 
Mr, Wirt's life was, in great part, that of a student. His youth- 
ful days were passed in preparation for his profession. His man- 
hood was engrossed by forensic labors. Old age found him 
crowned with the honors of a faithfully earned juridical renown. 

His social life was one of great delight to his friends. It was 
embellished with all the graces which a benevolent heart, a play- 
ful temper and a happy facility of discourse were able to impart. 
With mankind, beyond the circle of his personal friends, he had 
no great acquaintance. He was not much of a traveller. Oc- 
casionally touching upon the confines of political life, he was, 
nevertheless, but scantily entitled to be called a statesman. For 
twelve years Attorney General of the United States, and con- 
sequently a member of the Cabinet through three Presidential 
terms, his participation in government affairs went very little 
beyond the professional duties of his office. He had a strong 
talent and, with it, an eager inclination for literary enterprise. 
To indulge these was the most ardent wish of his mmd ; but 
the pressure of his circumstances kept him under a continual 
interdict. What he has given to the world, therefore, in this kind, 

VOL. 1—2 



14 INTRODUCTION. 



is small in amount, and given under conditions that should almost 
disarm criticism. The few works which he has left behind, how- 
ever, will be found to merit, as in his lifetime they received, the 
praise due to the productions of an instructive and pleasant writer. 

A life confined to the pursuits indicated in this sketch, may not 
be expected to charm the reader by the significance of its events. 
It is much more a life of reflection than of action; more a life of 
character than of incident. I have to present to the world a man 
o-reatly beloved for his social virtues, the illustrations of which are 
daily fading away with the fading memories of contemporary 
friends, now reduced to a few survivors: a man of letters and 
strong literary ambition, but who had not the leisure to gratify a 
taste in the indulgence of which he might have attained to high 
renown: a public functionary, who had no relish for politics, and 
who was, consequently, but little identified with that public his- 
tory which so often imparts the only value to biography : a lawyer 
who, with a full measure of contemporary fame, has left but little 
on record by which the justice of that fame might be estimated. 

These are the chief impediments to the success of the task I 
have assumed. Yet I do not fear that, from the material at my 
disposal, I shall be able to furnish an agreeable image of a man 
whose character will win the affections of the generation which 
succeeds him, as it did of those amongst whom he lived. 



LIFE OF WILLIAM WIHT. 



CHAPTER I. 

1772 — 1783. 

PARENTAGE OF WILLIAM WIRT.— HIS BIRTH— WILL OF JACOB WIRT— 
PATRIMONY— AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OFTEN YEARS — BLADENSBURG. 
—THE SCHOOLMASTER— MOTHER AND AUNT.— A THUNDERSTORM.— OLD 
INHABITANTS OF BLADENSBURG— THE DANCING MASTER.— A GHOST 

STORY PERFORMANCE ON THE SLACK WIRE — LEE'S LEGION — THE YOUNG 

DRUMMER MR. ROGERS' SCHOOL IN GEORGETOWN.— MRS. SCHOOLFIELD. 

—MRS. LOVE AND HER FAMILY RURAL LIFE AND ITS IMAGES — MR. DENT'S 

SCHOOL, CHARLES COUNTY.— ALEXANDER CAMPBELL.— THE PEACE— DAY 
DREAMS— COLONEL LEE.— MR. HUNT'S SCHOOL IN MONTGOMERY.— EARLY 
ACaUAINTANCES MUSIC A FOX HUNT. 

Those who best remember William Wirt, need not be reminded 
how distinctively his face and figure suggested his connection with 
the German race. The massive and bold outline of his counte- 
nance, the clear, kind, blue eye, the light hair falling in crisp and 
numerous curls upon a broad forehead, the high arching eyebrow, 
the large nose and ample chin might recall a resemblance to the 
portrait of Goethe. His height rather above six feet, his broad 
shoulders, capacious chest and general fullness of development 
were equally characteristic of his Teutonic origin. The ever 
changing expression of his eye and lip, at one moment sobered 
with deep thought, and in the next radiant with a rich, lurking, 
quiet humor that might be seen coming up from the depths of his 
heart and provoking a laugh before a word was said — these were 
traits which enlivened whatever might be supposed to be saturnine 
in the merely national cast of his features. 



16 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. [1772—1783. 

> i — 

His father, Jacob Wirt, was from Switzerland :* his mother, 
Henrietta, was a German. Jacob, with his brother Jasper Wirt, 
had settled in Bladensburg, in Maryland, sojne years before the 
war of the Revolution. Jacob had six cliildren, three sons and 
three daughters, of whom William was the youngest. He had 
gathered some little property in Bladensburg and supported his 
family there chietly by keeping a tavern, the avails of which, 
together with some small rents accruing from a few lots in the 
village, enabled him, in an humble way, to maintain a comfortable 
household. 

William was born on the 8th of November, in the year 1772. 
In less than two years after this date, Jacob Wirt died, leaving a 
small heritage to be divided between his wife and children. His 
will, which is on record in Prince George's county, assigns to his 
Avife Henrietta "one half lot of ground in Bladensburg, No. 5, 
on which the billiard room is built, and on which I am now build- 
ing a new house." After her death this lot was to "be appraised 
and to descend to my eldest son, Jacob Wirt, provided he pay out 
of the appraised value of said house and half lot, to each of my 
other children, one equal part, share and share alike, to wit: to 
my daughters Elizabeth, Catharine and Henrietta, and my sons 
Uriah-Jasper and William, — to each and every of which I give 
and bequeath one equal part of the appraised value of the above 
premises." The will mentions, besides this property, "the brick 
store in Bladensburg," rented at twenty-five pounds sterling per 
annum to Cunningham and Co.; — and "my tavern in which I now 
reside, with the back builcHngs, stables and lot, also the counting 
house before the tavern door and the smith shop." We have 
also a reference to two lots of ground in " Hamburg near George- 
town," and some personal estate. 

This is a summary of all the worldly goods which Jacob Wirt, 
in the year 1774, left to be divided between his wife and six 
children. Henrietta Wirt, the mother of the family, died before 
William attained his eighth year. How much of the property 
we have enumerated remained in the family at that period, we 

* The name of Wiit or Wirtli is familiar to the annals of Switzerland. The 
reader conversant with the history of tlie Reformation, will rememher tlie unhappy 
fate of Adam Wirtli, the deputy baililf of Stammheim, and his two sons, John and 
Adrian, at Baden in 1324. 



CHAP. I] PATRIMONY. — AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 

have no means of knowing. The whole value of these Bladens- 
burg and Hamburg lots, we may conjecture, amounted to no great 
sum, — periiaps not more than three or four thousand dollars. 
Divided, it afforded but small provision for each of the children. 

It is probable that William was born in the little hotel of the 
village, mentioned in the will; and as this building is directed to 
be rented out, we may suppose that the family moved after the 
death of Jacob Wirt, to the "new house" on lot No. 5. I have, 
in vain, endeavored to ascertain in the village, from its present 
inhabitants, the truth of these conjectures or to identify either of 
the houses referred to. 

There are but (cw memorials of the family left. Humble labor 
with its lowly roof and frugal board may find a happy fireside, 
but it has few chroniclers. What is accessible to us of the his- 
tory of that fireside, in whose rays the infancy of William Wirt 
found a cheerful and healthy light, we owe chiefly, almost wholly, 
to a pleasant and playful memoir which the subject of it, then At- 
torney General of the United States, wrote at the request of his 
children, in 1825, to amuse them with recollections which, it is 
easy to discern, still more delighted himself. 

This little fragment of autobiography runs over the first ten 
years of the author's childhood. It is a homely, warm-hearted re- 
membrance of a simple time, sketched, with a lively pencil, by 
one who never lost sight in the zenith of a brilliant fame of his 
obligations to those who watched his first steps and protected his 
earliest infancy. 

I shall extract from these reminiscences what I find useful to my 
present purpose, without venturing to submit the whole to the eye 
of the public. They dwell upon incidents which, however grateful 
in the telling to that afi'ectionate circle to whom the memoir was 
addressed, and who could find in it a thousand memories of familv 
endearment, would, I am fearful, be considered sometimes too 
trivial to excite the interest of those who are strangers to the 
genial spirit and household mirthfulness of the writer. Even for 
the extracts which I may submit, I must deprecate, on this score, 
the too rigid criticism or fastidious comment of my reader, — asking- 
him to remember that a father, discoursing to his children as- 
sembled around their own hearth, on topics which derive their 
agreeable savour from their love to him, may claim a dramatic pri- 



VOL. 1—2 



* 



18 BLADENSBURG. [1772—1793. 

vilege from the critic, to have his performance judged by its adap- 
tation to tl)e scene, the time, the place and the persons. 

AVith this endeavor to forestall the judgment of the reader, — in- 
deed to bespeak his good nature — towards what it is proposed to 
disclose of the memoir, I would remark, by way of comment on 
the greater portion of these extracts, that Mr. Wirt's character 
was, to the latest period of his life, singularly impressed by the 
vivacity of his imagination. He was greatly sensitive to the in- 
fluence which this predominance of the ideal had in shaping his 
career, and has endeavored in the memoir, to trace the source of 
some distinctive currents of his life to the impressions made upon 
his imagination in childhood. Every one has felt these influences 
in greater or less degree, and most persons may be able to find in 
their own history some particular complexion of mind or form of 
habit and opinion traceable to such causes. In Mr. Wirt the effect 
of such influences was visible, in a very striking degree, to his 
friends. This may, perhaps, appear also to the reader in the 
course of this biography. 

Bladensburg has been, for many years past, a quiet, — I may even 
say, without meaning unfriendly disparagement — a drowsy and 
stagnant little village, well known by its position on the wayside 
of a great thoroughfare to the national metropolis, from which it 
is but a few miles distant. It is somewhat famous in our annals, 
not only as a neutral ground where many a personal combat has 
decided what the world has chosen to call a point of honor, but 
also as the field where higher questions were put to mortal arbi- 
trement, when the British army, in 1814, disputed with an Ameri- 
can host for the possession of the capital. For many years past, — 
from a date before the commencement of the present century, — 
this village has been not only stationary in its growth, but even 
falling gradually away under the touch of time. During a great 
])ortion of this period, it was enlivened by the daily transit of 
some half dozen or more mail coaches, plying through to and from 
the capital of the United States. Twice a day the silence which 
brooded over its streets was broken by the blowing of horns, tlie 
clamor of stable boys hurrying with fresh relays of horses to the 
doors of rival stage houses, and by the rattle of rapidly arriving 
and departing coaches. But even these transient glories have 
vanished. The rail road, which touches only on the border of 



CHAP. I.] 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 19 



the village, has now displaced the old stage coach, and the village 
slumbers are no longer broken. 

Previous to the Revolutionary war this village had a different 
fortune. It was then a thrifty, business-driving, little sea-port, 
profitably devoted to the tobacco trade, of which it constituted, 
at that day, quite an important mart. It was inhabited by some 
wealthy factors who had planted themselves there in connection 
with trans-atlantic houses, and whose mode of living, both in the 
cliaracter of their dwellings and in the matter of personal display, 
communicated a certain show of opulence to the town. 

Whilst it was yet in its flourishing era, William Wirt was one 
of the children most familiar to its firesides — a lively, shrewd, 
pleasant-tempered and beautiful boy, upon whom many eyes were 
turned in kindly regard, though with little foresight, perhaps, of 
that risina; fortune to which he was destined. 

Touching these days he shall now speak for himself 

His reminiscences begin at some three or four years of age, 
when he was first sent to school. It does not often fail that our 
strongest recollection of infancy goes back to the schoolmaster, — 
that high authority whose lineaments are indelibly stamped upon 
the memory of childhood. Who does not remember the awe and 
reverence with which his young imagination invested the peda- 
gogue beneath whose sceptre he was first taught to bow.'' To the 
child who, yet callow, looks tremblingly upon all beyond the 
roof-tree, the image of the schoolmaster is the embodiment of all 
power and all knowledge — teacher, sage, seer, magician. The 
trace he leaves of his form and face, his gait, his voice, his vest- 
ments, his uprising and down sitting, incoming and outgoing is not 
a thing of memory merely, — it is an assimilation of something into 
our organism, an incorporation of his identity with our own, which 
we perceive as we perceive ourselves some half century back. 

Our present reminiscence, in the memoir, naturally begins with 
this image. 

" The schoolhouse was across tlie street at the farther corner 
of the opposite square. The schoolmaster was Elisha Crown, an 
Englishman; a middle-sized man, stoop-shouldered, spare, rather 
thin-faced and of a dark complexion. He wore a suit of blue 
cloth, coat, waistcoat and small clothes, with black horn buttons, 
an old-fashioned cock-and-pinch hat, the pinch in front, far pro- 



20 MOTHER AND AUNT. [1772—1783. 



jeded and sliarp^ a pair of silver shoe buckles, — and was a very 
respectable looking old-fashioned gentleman." This picture may 
remind us of Ilogartlrs " Politician," with "the pinch" so far 
projecting that the candle burns a hole through it. 

" The school was transferred about a mile into the country, on 
what was then the road from Bladensburg to Georgetown, Mr. 
Crown's house being on one side of the road and the schoolhouse 
on the other — both of them log houses. The dwelling house, or 
a house built on the same site, is now (1825) standing, and the 
foundation of the old schoolhouse is still visible. The land and 
house belonged to my uncle Jasper Wirt, whose eldest daughter 
Mr. Crown had married, and whose dwelling, a single-storied 
brick house, was not more than a quarter of a mile off, and is also 
still standing." 

We pass now from the schoolmaster and his concerns, to an in- 
cident connected with this dwelling of Jasper Wirt, and to a 
])leasant family picture. The minute recollection of this inci- 
dent will illustrate that sensitiveness of imagination to which 
we have referred. 

" My mother had come over from Bladensburg, one summer 
evening, on a visit to my aunt, and after school I went down to 
join her. My aunt dwells upon my memory in strong colors. 
She was a tall and ratlier large-framed woman, with a fair com- 
plexion and a round face, that must have been handsome in her 
vouth. She was a native of Switzerland, and had a cast of cha- 
racter tliat made her worthy of the land of William Tell. A 
kinder being never lived. She was full of all the charities and 
courtesies of life, always ready to suggest excuses for the weak- 
nesses and frailties of others, yet without any frailty or weakness 
of her own that I could discover. 

"She was religious, a great reader of religious books; and had 
a large, old folio German Bible, bound eitlier in wood or hard 
black leather, with silver or brass clasps. Often have I seen her 
read that book with streaming eyes and a voice half choked with 
her feelings. 

" On the evening that I am speaking of, there was one of the 
most violent thunderstorms I have ever witnessed. My aunt got 
down her Bible and began to read aloud. As the storm increased 
she read louder and louder. My mother was exceedingly fright- 



CHAP, r.] A THUNDERSTORM. 21 

ened. She was one of the most tender and afleclionate of beings; 
but she liad tlie timidity of her sex in an extreme degree, — and, 
indeed, this storm was enoiigli to appal the stoutest heart. One 
tlash of lightning struck a tree in the yard and ripped o(F a large 
splinter, which it drove towards us. My mother shrieked aloud, 
llew behind the door and took me with her. My aunt remained 
firm in her seat and noticed the peal in no other way than by the 
increased energy of her voice. This was the first thunderstorm 
I remember. I never got over my mother's contagious terror until 
I became a man. Even then, and even yet, I am rendered much 
more uneasy by a thunderstorm than, I believe, I should have been 
if my mother had, on that occasion, displayed the firmness of 
my aunt. I could not have been more than five or six years old 
when this happened. The incident and its effect on me show the 
necessity of commanding our fears before our children." 

Another incident — 

" On our way home from the schoolhouse to Bladensburg the 
road passed by an old field, on the outer margin of which a negro 
man had been buried who, it was reported, had been whipped to 
death by his master. Besides the boys, who went to this school 
from Bladensburg, there were several from the neighborhood, and, 
amongst others, one whom I remember only as Zack Calvert. 
This boy had one evening been detained at school after all the rest 
of us had gone home, and had to pass the old field after daylight 
was gone. The next morning — full well do I remember how he 
made my tlesh creep and my hair rise, by telling us that, in passing 
the field, the night before, he heard a whip-poor-will, which sate 
upon the gravestone of the negro, cry out ' whip him well— whip 
him well — whip him well,' — and that he could hear a voice an- 
swering from below ' Oh pray !' — It was the first time that a su- 
perstitious emotion entered my mind, and I now recall how dread- 
fully sublime it was. My heart quaked, and yet there was a sort 
of terrible pleasure in it which I cannot define. It made my blood 
creep with horror to believe it: yet I would not have had it false. 
That terrible field was never afterwards passed at twiliglit without 
a race, in which I, as being youngest, was always behind and con- 
sequently most exposed to the danger and proportionably terrified. 
I do not yet hear a whip-poor-will, without some of these mis- 
givings of my childhood." 



22 OLD INHABITANTS. [1772—1783. 

These are trifles in the review of them, though not without 
some small interest in connection with the person who has thought 
them worth recollecting. They call to memory some charac- 
teristics which his personal friends will not fail to recognize. 

We have some pleasant descriptions of several merchants of 
Bladenshurg of the old time ; — of Mr. Christopher Lowndes — the 
"tall, spare old gentleman, in hlue broadcloth and plush, and 
cocked hat" — remarkable for his politeness and sauvily : — of Mr. 
Robert Dick, the silent, thoughtful man of business, residing in a 
beautiful mansion, " a long white house with wings, which stood 
on the summit of the Eastern Rid2:e which overlooks the town:" — 
Mr. Sidebotham, a stirring, busy, successful merchant, rosy from 
good living, who, in the old fashion of Maryland, had his bowl of 
toddy every day — a thorough John Bull, " proud, rough, absolute 
and kind." We have shorter notices of Mr. Henderson, Mr. 
Huett and Doctor Ross, Messrs. Campbell and Bruce, factors, 
with good capital at command. — Mr. Ponsonby was one of the 
magnates of the village, — a handsome man, graceful, lively, well 
informed, and somewhat of the most noticeable for his beautiful 
bay horse, bright silver spurs, stirrups, bridle bit and whip mount- 
ings, all of glittering silver — very taking to the eye of William 
Wirt and the other children of the village. 

In the humbler range of the inhabitants he has other equally 
pleasant memories. 

" At the lower end of the town towards Baltimore, the house 
nearest the Eastern Branch was occupied by old Mr. Martin, 
whom we used to call Uncle Martin — why, I know not. The 
Eastern Branch is subject to heavy freshets which have flowed up 
to Mr. Martin's house, and sometimes overflowed the whole vil- 
lage. One of the most surprising and interesting spectacles to 
me, in those days, was this old man wading up to his waist, 
during a freshet, and harpooning the sturgeon. It was a whale 
fishery in miniature, and not less interesting to me at that date. 
The old man himself was an odd fish. He used to get fuddled 
and amuse himself with singing ' The Cuckoo's nest' and attempt- 
ing to dance a hornpipe to the tune of it. He was fond of me and 
petted me a good deal. I remember him with kindness. I became 
myself a hornpipe dancer by an occasion I will presently mention, 
and the old man was delighted to see me dance to 'the Cuckoo's 



CHAP. L] THE DANCING MASTER. 23 

nest' sung by himself. His second daughter was a beautiful girl 
whom I can just remember. The oldest son of my Uncle Jasper 
was in love with her, and I have a recollection of having heard 
him take leave of her, when he was going to sea to seek his for- 
tune. He was accompanied by my eldest brother. They never 
returned nor were ever heard of afterwards." 

" I must not forget Colonel Tattison, as he called himself in 
Maryland — Col. Degraves, as he called himself in Virginia, — the 
French dancing master, whom I remember as a most symmetrical, 
elegant and graceful person. To teach the new-fashioned minuet 
which he introduced info Bladensburg, he used to mark, for 
beginners, a large Z on the floor of the dancing room with chalk, 
and that letter gave tlie figure of the dance. The house in which 
the school was kept stood some several hundred yards from where 
I lived, but whilst I was yet in petticoats, I used to steal away 
from home to see Tattison dance his minuet. — My eldest sister, a 
beautiful brunette, not then fully grown, was one of his scholars, 
and very nearly as good a dancer as her teacher. It is not in 
imitative childhood to admire any thing as I did the minuet, with- 
out learning immediately to dance it; and, of course, being a mere 
child, I soon became a subject of admiration myself as a minuet 
dancer. I remember that at the wedding of the eldest daughter of 
that John Martin, whom I have mentioned, my sister put a cocked 
hat on my head and took me out to exhibit me and herself in the 
French minuet — the graceful management of the hat, putting it on 
and off, being an essential part of the dance. The old school- 
master, Mr. Crown, was present, and being much dissatisfied with 
the admiration lavished on the French dance (solely because it was 
French) he took out a lady to shew how much superior the old 
English minuet was. That was danced in the figure 8, and like 
the French, by a gentleman and lady only. In passing each other 
in the centre of the figure, there was a moment when the gentle- 
man and his partner were back to back. The minuet time and 
step being very slow, this uncourtly relation was continued until 
the parties arrived at the ends of the figure and faced about. 

" Mr. Crown considered it the quintescence of politeness to 
abbreviate this period, by setting off in full run to gain the upper 
end and present his face. The old gentleman's dress — his sharp 
cock-and-pinch, his long waisted blue coat, his red waistcoat, very 



24 A GHOST STORY. [1772—1783. 

long, and his very short breeches — gave him an air so grostesque, 
\vhilst executing this run to the extreme end of the room, as to 
jiroducc an explosion of laughter. Such — as Camden says on a 
somewhat different occasion — was the plain and jolly mirth of 
our ancestors !" 

Here follows a ghost story — 

" There was another incident to which this wedding gave rise. 
A dance was given, on a subsequent night, to the Avedding party, 
at our house. When the company had danced themselves weary, 
Tattison proposed to close the evening by raising a ghost. The 
matrons objected to it, as a light and impious trifling with solemn 
subjects ; but Tattison assured them, with equal gravity, that he 
had the power of raising any ghost they would call for, and that 
he could give them conclusive proof of it: that if any one would 
go up stairs and consent to be locked up in the room farthest re- 
moved from the company below, the stair door should also be 
locked, so that no possible communication could be held between 
the person above and those below. After this the company might 
fix on a ghost whom he, the operator, would cause to appear to 
the person up stairs. The graver part of the company still 
discouraged the experiment; but the curiosty of the younger and 
more numerous prevailed, and nothing was wanting but a sitter 
up stairs to enable the Frenchman to give proof of his skill in the 
black art. After some hesitation amongst all, a Mr. Brice of 
Alexandria agreed to be closeted. He was accordingly taken up 
stairs. The door of the room into which he was introduced was 
locked, and after that the door of the stair below, \vhich opened 
from the stairs upon the dancing room. Tattison then asked for 
a shovel of live coals, some salt, brimstone and a case knife. 
Whilst these things were getting, he proposed that the women 
should, in a whispering consultation, agree upon the ghost to be 
raised, and report it secretly to him. This was done ; and the 
ghost agreed upon was to be that of John Francis, a little, super- 
annuated shoemaker, who had died some (ew years before — in 
his latter days a ludicrous person whose few remaining locks 
were snowy white, with a nose as red as Bardolph's and eyes of 
j-lieum — and who was accustomed to sing, with a paralytic shake 
of the head and tremulous voice, — 



CHAP. I.] 



GHOST STORY. S'$ 



'What did we come here for? what did we come here for? 

We came here to prittle prattle. 

And to make the glasses rattle ; 
And that's what we came here for.' 

" The habit of drink was so inveterate upon him that he had not 
been able to walk for some years before his death, except with 
the help of another, and then with but a tottering step. The an- 
nunciation of his name was answered by a half suppressed laugh 
around the room. The difficulty of the Frenchman's task was 
supposed to be not a little increased by attempting to make John 
Francis's ghost walk alone. He, however, nothing daunted, 
began his incantations, which consisted of sprinkling salt and brim- 
stone on the coals, muttering over them a charm in some sort of 
gibberish, and knocking solemnly on the stair door with the butt 
of his case knife. These strokes on the door were as regular as 
the tolling of a bell, each series closing with a double knock; then 
came a pause, another series of knocks closed by another double 
stroke, and so on to the end of the ceremony. 

" The process was long and solemn, and there was something in 
the business itself and in the sympathy with the imagined terrors of 
the witness above, which soon hushed the whole assembly into a 
nervous stillness akin to that of young children listening to a ghost 
story at midnight. In about half an hour the ceremony was closed, 
in a shower of blows and the agitated cries of the Frenchman. 
Brice was heard to fall on the floor above. The Frenchman 
rushed up stairs at the head of several of the company; and there 
our sitter was found on the floor in a swoon. He was brought to 
with the aid of cold water, and on reviving said he had seen a 
man enter the room with a coal of fire on his nose, and on his 
forehead written in fire the name of John Francis. — It was agreed, 
on all hands, to be very strange ; and many shook their heads sig- 
nificantly at Tattison, intimating that he knew more than he ought, 
and that it was not very clear he was fit company for christian 
people. No one was disposed to renew the dance, and the party 
broke up. The Frenchman, with his characteristic politeness, 
flew to the door to help the ladies down the steps, when he saw, 
standing outside of the door, close at hand, a gigantic phantom 
arrayed in white and arms stretched wide, as if to receive him. 
He shrieked, leaped from the steps and disappeared." 

VOL. 1—3 



26 THE WIRE DANCER. [1772—1783. 

This was plot and counterplot. — Next comes that wonder of 
childhood, the Wire Dancer, with his balancings and other accom- 
plishments. 

"About the same period when Taltison was figuring in our 
village, we had another exhibition still better fitted to gratify my 
love of the picturesque, and awaken whatever of fancy belonged 
to me. This was Mr. Templeman, a dancer on the slackwire. 
The exhibition was in Tattison's dancing room. We got there at 
early candle light. The room was brilliantly lighted. A large 
wire fastened at each end of the room, near the ceiling, hung in a 
curve, the middle of it within twelve or fifteen inches of the tloor. 
I remember the pouring in of the company till the room was filled, 
as the phrase is, ' with all the beauty and fashion of the place.' 
Still better do I remember, after a note of preparation from an- 
other room, which bespoke and commanded silence, the entree of 
Templeman — a tall man, superbly attired in a fanciful dress; of 
a military air, with a drum hung over his shoulder by a scarlet 
scarf It was such a picture as I had never seen. Saluting the 
company with dignity, he placed himself upon the wire; then 
giving a hand to his attendant, he was drawn to one side of the 
room, and, being let go, swung at ease, — beating the drum like a 
professional performer. He performed all the usual exploits, 
balancing hoops, swords, &c. — and, to crown the whole, danced 
what I had never seen before, a hornpipe, in superior style ; — his 
spangled shoes, in the rapidity of his steps, producing upon me a 
most brilliant etfect. My own imitative propensity came again 
into play, and I became a celebrated hornpipe-dancer before I 
was six years of age ; — meaning by celebrated^ such celebrity as 
spread through about one-third of our little village. The image 
of Templeman rose before me as something of another age, or 
another sphere when, about forty years after I had seen him 
swinging in such splendor on the wire, 1 met in Washington a well 
dressed gentleman-like person, somewhat corpulent, who was made 
known to me as the paragon of my childish admiration, converted 
into a plain citizen, and an extensive dealer in city lots." 
We have now some pictures of the Revolutionary war, 
" Before I left Bladensburg to reside in it no more, which hap- 
pened in my seventh year, another event occurred which rests 
vividly upon my recollection. This was the passage of Lee's 



CHAP, r.] LEE'S LEGION. 27 

Legion through the village. I presume this occurred when Lee 
was detached from the north to support General Greene in the 
south. I remember the long line of cavalry in the street, the large 
beautiful horses and fine looking men in uniform, and a particular 
individual who was pointed out to me as a relation to my family. 
His hair was loose, long, black and frizzled, and flowed over his 
broad shoulders, sweeping down to his saddle. General Lee, 
whom I knew well in aftertimes, has repeatedly mentioned this 
individual to me as an officer (a subaltern, perhaps) of great merit; 
which fixes the fact that the cavalry I saw was of Lee's Legion, 
It extended along the street until the head of the column had 
turned the corner at the lower, the southern, extremity of the 
village, before the rear came in view: — a spectacle well calculated 
to till the imagination, and stamp itself deeply on the memory of a 
boy of my age. 

"It must have been at the same time that a body of infantry of 
the Continental army, was in Bladensburg, — perhaps, also, a part 
of Lee's Legion. There was among them a doctor whose name, 
it strikes me, I have heard mentioned as a surgeon in Lee's corps. 
The only thing, in the way of rebuke, I recollect to have ever re- 
ceived from my dear mother, was occasioned by an incident con- 
nected with these troops. The continual musters of militia in 
Bladensburg, with the drum and fite, had made me a drummer 
from a period so early that I have no recollection of its commence- 
ment. My ear was naturally good, and I was a singer for the 
amusement of company from the time that I could speak, and 
perhaps sooner. The accuracy of my ear and my imitative pro- 
pensity kept me drumming on the tables and on the floors and 
singing the common marches of the time, with such directness and 
dexterity that it attracted the attention of others. An old gen- 
tleman whose name I cannot now recall, drew out of his bosom 
one day, a pair of small drumsticks, which he had had made for 
me and painted blue, and gave them to me as a present. I had no 
drum, but with these sticks I pursued my drumming exercise with 
such effect that I could soon beat time as accurately as any drum- 
mer in the army. This was the state of my proficiency when the 
troops aforesaid marched through Bladensburg. Pushing and peer- 
ing about them, I found myself, one day, at the baker's in a room 
where the soldiers were drinking, and where there were drums 



28 MR. ROGERS' SCHOOL. [1772-1783. 



and fifes in plenty. The baker was a merry-hearted man, and, 
upon seeing me, had a drum and fife paraded, and the drumsticks 
put into my liands. I set to beating, with the accompaniment of 
the fife too. It was my first exliibition. I performed with so 
much animation and success that the soldiers were astounded. 
The drum head was soon covered with as many pieces of silver 
coin and pennies as filled both my hands. It was on occasion 
of my carrying these home in triumph, that my honored and be- 
loved mother gave me a rebuke against taking money presents, 
which fashioned my character in that particular for life." 

"In 1779, I was sent to Georgetown, eight miles from Bla- 
densburg, to school — a classical academy kept by Mr. Rogers. 
I was placed at boarding with the family of Mr. Schoolfield, a 
quaker. They occupied a small house of hewn logs at the eastern 
end of Bridge street. Friend Schoolfield was a well-set, square 
built, honest-faced and honest-hearted quaker: — his wife one of 
the best of creation. A deep sadness fell upon me, when I was 
left by the person who accompanied me to Georgetown. When 
1 could no longer see a face that I knew, nor an object that was 
not stransre, I remember the sense of total desertion and forlorn- 
ness that seized upon my heart — unlike any thing I felt in after 
years. I sobbed as if my heart would break for hours together, 
and was utterly inconsolable notwithstanding the maternal tender- 
ness with which good Mrs. Schoolfield tried to comfort me. 
Almost half a century has rolled over the incident, yet full well do 
I recollect with what gentle affection and touching sympathy she 
urged every topic that was calculated to console a child of my 
years. After quieting me in some measure by her caresses, she 
look down her Bible and read to me the story of Joseph and his 
brethren. It is probable I had read it before, as such things are 
usually read, — without understanding it. But she made me com- 
prehend it ; and in the distresses of Joseph and his father I forgot 
my own. His separation from his family had brought him to great 
honor, and possibly mine, I thought, might be equally fortunate. 
1 claim some sense of gratitude. I never forget an act of kindness, 
and never received one that my heart has not impelled me to wish 
for some occasion to return it. So far as my experience goes, I 
am persuaded, too, that doing an act of kindness and, still more, 
repeated acts to the same individual, are as apt to attach the heart 



CFfAP. I] MRS. LOVE AND HER FAMILY. 29 

of the benefactor to the object, as that of the beneficiary to the 
person who does him the service. It was so in this instance. I 
went to see Mrs. Schoolfield after I became a man, and a warmer 
meeting has seldom taken place between mother and son. 

" I passed one winter in Georgetown and remember seeing a 
long line of wagons cross the river on the ice. I conjecture that 
it was the winter of 1779-80, and that these wagons were at- 
tached to the troops already mentioned, which were going to the 
south. I remember also to have seen a gentleman, Mr. Peter, I 
think, going out gunning for canvass backs — then called white 
backs — which I have seen in those days whitening the Potomac, 
and which when they rose, as they sometimes did for a half a 
mile or a mile together, produced a sound like thunder. I men- 
tion this — being struck with the different state of this game now 
on the Potomac." 

This school of Mr. Rogers left no pleasant impression on the 
mind of the pupil. He remained there less than one year, changed 
his boarding house, and, getting from under the eye of good Mrs. 
Schoolfield and her household, fell into associations with others 
not so kind. Richard Brent, Esq., a gentleman once distinguished 
in the House of Representatives, but long since dead, was a 
fellow-student at the Georgetown school. 

The recollections now carry us to another quarter. 

" From Georgetown I was transferred to a classical school in 
Charles county, Maryland, about forty miles from Bladensburg. 
This school was kept by one Hatch Dent, in the vestry house of 
Newport Church. I was boarded with a widow lady by the 
name of Love, and my residence in her family forms one of the 
few sunny spots in the retrospect of my childhood. Mrs. Love 
w^as a small, thin old lady, a good deal bent by age, yet brisk and 
active. The family was composed of her and three maiden 
daughters, of whom the eldest, I suppose, was verging on forty, 
and the youngest, perhaps, twenty-eight. She had a son married 
and settled in the neighborhood. The eldest daughter was named 
Nancy, a round, plump and jolly old maid, who was the weaver 
of the family and used to take a great deal of snuff. The second 
was Sally. She presided over the dairy, which was always neat 
and sweet and abundantly supplied with the richest cream and 
butter. Sally was somewhere about thirty, short, rosy and brisk, 

VOL. 1—3* 



30 RURAL LIFE. [1772—1733. 



with a countenance marked by health and good humor, and with 
one of the kindest hearts that beat in the bosom of her kind sex. 
She was fond of me, banqueted me on milk and cream to my 
heart's content, admired my songs, and sang herself. From her I 
first heard Roslin Castle. Her clear and loud voice could make 
the neighborhood vocal with its notes of touching plaint. From 
lier, too, I first heard the name of Clarissa Harlowe, and she gave 
me, in her manner, a skeleton of the story. Peggy, the youngest, 
was pale and delicate, with more softness of manners than the 
others. She was the knitter and seamstress of the household; 
of very sweet disposition, with a weak and slender but kindly 
voice. She did not sing herself, but was very fond of hearing us 
who did. There were two boys of us near the same age. John- 
son Carnes was rather older and larger than me. He was a good, 
diffident, rather grave boy, with better common sense than I had. 
But he did not sing, was ratlier homely, and had no mirth and 
frolic in him. I, on the contrary, was pert, lively and saucy, and 
they used to say pretty withal — said smart things sometimes, and 
sang two or three songs of humor very well. One was Dick of 
Danting Dane, in which the verse about ' my father's black sow ' 
was a jest that never grew stale, nor failed to raise a hearty 
laugh. Another was a description of a race at New Market be- 
tween two horses called Sloven and Thunderbolt. Sloven be- 
longed to some Duke — perhaps the Duke of Bolton. The verse 
ran, as I remember — 

' When Sloven saw the Duke his master. 

He laid back his ears and did run much faster.' 

"Besides my singing, I danced to the astonishment of the natives, 
and, altogether, had the reputation of a genius. Thus admired, 
flattered and feasted with milk and cream, Roslin Castle and Cla- 
rissa Harlowe, &.c., what more could a child of my age want to 
make him happy ! The very negroes used to be pleased to con- 
tribute to my amusement. Old Moll carried me to the cowpen, 
where she permitted me with a clean, broad splinter, prepared for 
the purpose, to whip the rich froth from the milk pail ; and her 
son George, after a hard day's work in the field, came home at 
night and played the horse for me, by going on all fours, in the 
green yard, with me mounted upon his back, — he going through 



CHAP. I.] 



MR. DENT'S SCHOOL. '31 



the feats of an imaginary fox hunt, sounding the horn and leaping 
over imaginary fences, gates, &c. — all of which was life and joy 
to me. To crown all, I had a sweetheart ; one of the prettiest 
cherubs that ever was born. The only thing I ever thanked 
/Nancy Love for, was giving me the occasion of becoming ac- 
quainted with this beautiful girl. She took me with her once on 
a visit to her aunt Reeder. Mr. Thomas Reeder lived on the 
banks of the Potomac, just above Laidlowe's and opposite to 
Hooe's Ferry. In those days there was a ferry from Reeder's to 
Hooe's. The house was of brick, situated on a high airy bank, 
giving a beautiful view of the Potomac, which is there four miles 
wide. Peggy Reeder was the only child of her parents, — about 
my own age, rather younger, and as beautiful as it is possible for 
a child to be. We fell most exceedingly in love with each other. 
She was accustomed to make long visits to her aunt Love, and no 
two lovers, however romantic, were ever more happy than we. 
On my part, it was a serious passion. No lover was ever more 
disconsolate in the absence of his mistress, nor more enraptured 
at meetino: her. I do not know whether it is held that the aft'ec- 
tions keep pace with the intellect in their development; but I do 
know that there is nothing in the sentiment of happy love, which 
I did not experience for that girl, in the course of the two years 
when I resided at ^ Irs^ L over s. When I left there we were firmly 
engaged to be married at the following Easter. I felt proud and 
happy, not in the least doubting the fulfilment of the engagement 
at the time appointed." * * # # 

" As for school, Mr. Dent was a most excellent man, a sincere 
and pious christian, and, I presume, a good teacher — for I was 
too young to judge, and, in fact, much too young for a Latin 
school. In the two years Johnson Carnes and myself got as far 
advanced as Caesar's Commentaries — though we could not have 
been well grounded, for when I changed to another school, I was 
put back to Cornelius Nepos. Mr. Dent was very good tem- 
pered. I do not remember to have received from him a harsh 
word or any kind of punishment but once. His school was 
crowded. I can recall none of the scholars who attained much 
distinction, except one who was with us but a short time — Alex- 
ander Campbell, who afterwards became celebrated as an orator 
in Virginia, and still more painfully celebrated for his melancholy 



32 ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. [1772-1783. 



end. According to my recollection of him, when he came to Mr. 
Dent's, lie was between eighteen and twenty years old. He had 
just taken a prize for eloquence at the school in Georgetown. 
In deportment he was manly and dignified ;— rather grave and 
thoughtful, though sometimes relaxing a little. I remember his 
puzzling me with forte dux fel flat in gutlure. I recall, too, that 
perpetually tremulous and dancing eye-ball by which, in common 
with others of his family, he was so strikingly marked. 

" I never saw him after he left Mr. Dent's ; but he was still 
figuring at the bar after I grew up and went to commence the 
practice in the upper part of Virginia. I suppose he came to the 
bar several years after Chief Justice Marshall and Judge Wash- 
ington, who must themselves have begun to practice after the 
Revolutionary war. Edmund Randolph qualified just before the 
Revolution, or, perhaps, at the point of its commencement ; Patrick 
Henry about fifteen years earlier. Yet all these gentlemen were 
still at the bar when Mr. Campbell began his career. He ap- 
peared with them frequently in the same causes ; and it is high 
praise, but no less just than high, to say that, even among them 
he was a distinguished man. He stood confessedly in the first 
rank of genius. In logic, he did not wield the Herculean club of 
Marshall ; nor did he, in rhetoric, exhibit the gothic magnificence 
of Henry, — but his quiver was filled with polished arrows of the 
finest point, and were launched with Apollonian skill and grace. 
Some of the most beautiful touches of eloquence I have ever 
heard, were echoes from Campbell which reached us in the 
mountains. His arguments were much extolled for their learning 
and strength as well as beauty. I have heard it said that Mr. Pen- 
dleton, the President of the Court of Appeals, spoke of Campbell's 
argument in the case of Roy and Garnett, reported by Mr. Wash- 
ington, as the most perfect model of forensic discussion he had 
ever heard. — 

" Poor fellow ! * # * * 

" He left a whimsical will which I have seen, and in which was 
a request that no stone might be placed over his grave, for the 
reason that if a stone were placed over every grave there would 
be no earth left for agriculture." 

Leaving this digression we go back to Mrs. Love's. 

" I lived there, I think, until the year 1782, as perfectly happy 



CHAP. I.] RETURN OF PEACE. 33 



as a child could be who was separated from his mother and the 
other natural objects of his aifections. From the time I rose until 
I went to bed, tlie live-long day, it was all enjoyment, save only 
with two drawbacks— the going to school, and the getting tasks 
on holidays, — which last, by the by, is a practical cruelty that 
ought to be abolished. I never knew good to come of it, but 
much harm; for it starts across the child's path, like a goblin, 
throughout the holidays. The task is deferred until the last 
moment, then, either slubbered over any how or omitted alto- 
gether, and a thousand falsehoods invented to evade or excuse it. 
But these holiday tasks were the order of the day in my youth, 
and haunted me until the holidays no longer deserved the name. 
With the exception of these same tasks and a slight repugnance to 
daily school, Mrs. Love's was an elysium to me. It was a very- 
quiet life without the amusing incidents of Bladensburg and George- 
town. The only picturesque occurrence of which I have any re- 
collection was the passage of a party of fox-hunters with their 
dogs and horses, one day, by our dwelling-house. The public 
road to Allen's Fresh ran close by the gate, where I was standing 
alone, when this animated and noisy party dashed along. It was 
such an obstreperous invasion of the stillness of the country, and 
so entirely novel a spectacle to me, that I drew back from the 
gate and walked towards the house to get out of the way of the 
mischief of which they seemed full. One of the riders, observing 
my movement, put spurs to his horse and leaped the fence by the 
side of the gate, as if to frighten and pursue me ; but I was rather 
too proud to run, and he returned to his party the way he came." 
***** 
" There was a barbacue at the Cool Springs, near Johnson 
Carnes' father's, to celebrate the return of peace. This was an 
idea, I well remember, which puzzled me exceedingly. Having 
known no other things but a state of war, I had no suspicion that 
there was any thing unnatural or uncommon in it. I must have 
heard continually of the battles that were fought, but I have not 
the slightest vestige on my memory of any such thing ; — which 
can only proceed from the circumstance that battles, defeats and 
victories must have appeared to me as ordinary occurrences. I 
was exceedingly perplexed, therefore, to understand the event 
which this barbacue celebrated. I had no distinct idea of the 



34 DAY DREAMS. [1772-1783. 



meaning of war and peace; and, after the explanation that was 
given to me, had still but vague and confused impressions of the 
subject. I presume that the event in question was the signature 
of the preliminary articles in 1781, when I was only nine years 
old. If I had been at any time nearer to the immediate seat of the 
war, the terrors of those around me might have startled me into a 
clearer perception of its character, and have prepared me the 
better to understand and enjoy the return of peace. As it was, I 
had never heard of it but at a distance and with composure, and 
had seen nothing of war but its 'pride, pomp and circumstance,' 
to which a boy at my age had no objection." 

" I became sensible of the power of forming and pursuing at 
pleasure, a day-dream from which I derived great enjoyment, and 
to which I found myself often recurring. There was nothing in 
the scenery around me to awaken such vagaries. It was tame, 
gentle and peaceful. The house stood on a flat about half a mile 
wide and one mile long. On the east, the view was shut in by a 
liill of moderate height, which stretched along the whole length of 
the plain — gently undulating, verdant and adorned with a growth 
of noble walnut trees which were scattered over its sides and 
summit. This hill was the only handsome object in view. On 
every other side the plain was locked in by swamps or woods; 
so that there was neither incentive nor fuel for poetic dreams. 
Mine were the amusements of the dull morning walks from Mrs. 
Love's to the schoolhouse. It was a walk of about two miles, and 
my companion rather disposed to silence. I remember very dis- 
tinctly the subject of one of these vagaries, from the circumstance 
of my having recalled, renewed and varied it again and again from 
the pleasure it afforded me. I imagined myself the owner of a 
beautiful black horse, fleet as the winds. My pleasure consisted 
in imagining the admiration of the immense throngs on the race- 
field, brought there chiefly to witness the exploits of my prodigy 
of a horse. I could see them following and admiring him as he 
walked along the course, and could hear their bursts of applause 
as he shot by, first one competitor, and then another, in the race. 
The vision was vivid as life and I felt all the glow of triumph 
that a real victory could have given." 

These imaginings were characteristic of the boy, and seem to 
have typified the peculiar nature of his aspirations in the more 
mature period of his manhood. 



CHAP. I.] COLONEL LEE. 35 

Here is a remembrance of a notable personage of the Revo- 
lution. — 

" I must not forget a rencontre which I had with a very distin- 
guished man at this period. It had happened that, on some former 
occasion, I had attracted the attention of Col. Lee, of the legion 
ah-eady mentioned, as he passed through Bladensburg. A volume 
of Blackstone chanced to be lying on the table, near which he was 
sitting; and, shewing me the title on the back of the volume, he 
asked me what I called it. I pronounced the word ' Commen- 
taries' with the accent on the second syllable, and he corrected my 
cachilology^ as Lord Duberly calls it. Upon the foundation of this 
slight acquaintance, I was recognized by this gentleman at Mr. 
Reeder's, where I had gone on a visit with one of the Miss Loves, 
and whither Col. Lee had come to cross the ferry, with his first 
wife, then, as I was told, newly married. He seemed quite pleased 
to meet me, took great notice of me, and, finally, insisted on my 
crossing the river with him to Hooe's, where he promised to give 
me some fine cherries. They who had the care of me seemed to 
consider me and themselves much honored by this notice of Col. 
Lee, and readily consented to his proposal. So, I was placed 
along side of him in the boat, while his young wife, for the greater 
part, if not the whole of the passage, stood upon one of the 
benches, facing the breeze, which wantoned freely with her robes. 
She had a fine figure, and her attitude, as the boat rose and sank 
on the waves, was so strikingly picturesque as to remain strongly on 
my memory. The river is at this place four miles wide, and the 
beach at the opposite side is, at some states of the tide, so shal- 
low that a boat cannot get quite to the shore, in which case pas- 
sengers have to be borne to dry land in the arms of the ferrymen. 
This was the case on the present occasion. Col. Lee and his wife 
were taken to the shore, where they, their servants, ferrymen and 
all moved off to the house at Hooe's, leaving me sitting alone in 
the boat to chew the cud of disappointment and neglect as well as 
1 could. I was entirely forgotten : — but I did not forget this slight, 
'n the reflections which, even then and often afterwards, the inci- 
dent provoked. After sitting alone in the boat for near an hour, 
unthought of by the person who had betrayed me into that situ- 
ation, I was at last relieved by the ferrymen, who returning at 
their leisure, without either cherries or apology from Col. Lee, 



36 MR. HUNT'S SCHOOL. [1772—1783. 



took me safe back to the more friendly bosoms I had left on the 
other shore." 

"In 1783 I was removed from the grammar school of Mr. 
Dent in Charles county, to that of the Rev. James Hunt, the Pres- 
byterian minister in Montgomery county, whom I have already 
mentioned. I was put to board with Major Samuel Wade Ma- 
gruder, a substantial planter, who lived about two miles from Mr. 
Hunt's. The Magruders, at that time, formed a numerous family 
in that county. The original name, I have heard, was McGregor 
of Scotland, and the ancestors are said to have sought a refuge in 
this country, after the defeat at Culloden. The Major showed 
marks of Highland extraction. He was large, robust and some- 
what corpulent, with a round florid face, short, curling, sandy hair, 
and blue-gray eyes. He was strong of limb, fiery in temperament, 
hospitable, warm-hearted and rough. He was a magistrate and 
ex-officio a conservator of the peace, which, however, he was as 
ready, on provocation, to break as to preserve. At times he was 
kind and playful with the boys ; but wo betide the unfortunate boy 
or man who became the object of his displeasure ! 

" Mrs. Magruder was the sister of Col. Thomas Beall of George- 
town, and daughter, as I have understood, of the gentleman after 
whom Georgetown took its name — George Beall of that place. 
She was a small, spare old lady who had been handsome. Her 
countenance was strongly expressive of her gentle disposition. 
The contrast with her husband was very striking. She was quiet 
and generally silent. I do not remember having heard her speak 
a dozen times in the two years I lived in the family, and have for- 
gotten the note of her voice. But the Major's I remember as the 
loud north wind that used to rock the house and sweep the snow- 
covered field. They had a large family — seven sons and four 
dau'j-hters. The ffrown sons were numerous and loud enough to 
keep the house alive, being somewhat of the Osbaldiston order, 
except that there was not a Rashleigh among them; — nor was 
there a Di Vernon among the girls. 

" Besides the parents and children, there were divers incumbents 
who drew their rations in the Major's house. There was, for a 
short time, a Col. Hamilton, who used to wear leather clothes, — 
coat and waistcoat included, — a thin, keen, active man, a little 
above middle age, who, I was told, had been a Regulator in North 



CHAP, r.] EARLY ACQUAINTANCES. 3T 

Carolina, — though I was then ignorant what the word meant, — 
and that he was rather in concealment and under the Major's pro- 
tection. 

" Then there was an interesting old gentleman, by name Thomas 
Flint, who had been an English schoolmaster, and had educated 
all the family except George and Patrick, who were destined for 
a classical education and a learned profession. Mr. Flint was 
upwards of fifty, "in fair round belly with good capon lined" — a 
good looking man with a dark complexion, sharp, black eyes and 
shaggy brows. He had a son who was Major Magruder's 
overseer. 

"Besides these, there were two apprentices: — one of them, 
Zack, a wild, slovenly, blackguard boy, cut out by nature for a 
strolling player, having a strong inclination to repeat fragments of 
speeches and scraps of plays which he had learned from the boys 
of the school ; — the other was Harry, the son of the miller who 
was in the Major's employment, a modest and interesting young 
man, who disappeared in a mysterious way, the particulars of 
which I have forgotten. 

" The mansion was a large, two-storied brick house, built not 
long before I went there. In this his family proper lived. Within 
a few feet of it stood the old house, which had been the former 
residence of the family, but which was now occupied, at one end, 
by the overseer, and in the residue of its chambers by the school 
boys and the two apprentices. Here, at night, we got our lessons 
and more frequently played our pranks. 

"There were two boarders, besides myself: AValter Jones, son 
of Mr. Edward Jones, a rich planter of Frederick county, and 
Richard Harwood from Anne Arundel, — in after times one of the 
Judges of a District in the State. For a short time the late Col. 
Thomas Davis of Montgomery, was one of our boarders and 
schoolfellows. — So that Major Magruder's household embraced 
not less than twenty white persons. To these there was a con- 
stant addition, by visiters to the young people of the family. It 
was, in fact, an active, bustling, merry, noisy family, always in 
motion, and often in commotion. To me it was painfully con- 
trasted with the small, quiet, affectionate establishment of Mrs. 
Love. There I had been the petted child and supreme object of 
attention. Here I was lost in the multitude, unnoticed, unthought 

VOL. 1 — 4 



38 EARLY ACQUAINTANCES. [1772-1783. 



of, and left to make my way and take care of myself as well as 1 
could. My hair which, under the discipline of Mrs. Love's daugh- 
ters, was as clean and soft as silk, now lost its beauty. I had been 
spoiled by indulgence, and was really unfit to take care of myself. 
1 did not know how to go about it. Yet there was no one to take 
care of me, or who showed any interest in me except Harry, the 
miller's son. Young as I was, I had reflection enough to compare 
the two scenes in which I had lived, to feel my present desolation, 
and to sigh over the past. The tune of Roslin Castle never re- 
curred to my memory without filling my eyes with tears. 

"There was another circumstance which embittered my residence 
at Mr. Magruder's. One of my companions was ill-tempered, 
and I do not know by what antipathy, I became the peculiar 
object of his tyranny. There was that in my situation which 
would have disarmed a generous temper. I was a small, feebly- 
grown, delicate boy, an orphan, and a poor one too: but these 
circumstances seemed rather to invite than to allay the hostility of 
this fierce young man. During the two years that it was my mis- 
fortune to be a boarder in the house and his schoolfellow, I suffered 
a wanton barbarity that so degraded and cowed my spirit that I 
wonder I have ever recovered from it. In this large family he 
was, however, my only persecutor. The rest were content to let 
me alone, and I became, at length, well content to be so. I can 
recall here the first experience I had of the refuge and comfort of 
solitude. Often have I gone to bed long before I was sleepy, and 
long before any other member of the household, that I might enjoy 
in silence and to myself the hopes which my imagination never 
failed to set before me. These imaginings rest on my memory 
with the distinctness of yesterday. 1 looked forward to the time 
when I should be a young man and should have my own office of 
two rooms, my own servant and the means of receiving and enter- 
taining my friends with elegant liberality, my horse and fine equip- 
ments, a rich wardrobe, and these all recommended by such man- 
ners and accomplishments as should again restore me to such favor 
and affectionate intercourse as I had known at Mrs. Love's. I 
never dreamt of any other revenge on my tormenting schoolfellow, 
tiian to eclipse him and reduce him to sue to me for friendship. 
Except these waking dreams which live so vividly in my remem- 
brance, there are but few pleasant incidents to connect my recol- 



CHAP. I.] MUSIC. 89 



lections with those two years. Yet there are a few. One was 
the gratification I took in the visits of company to the house. 
Sometimes the young folks played cards, and I was not forbidden 
to sit in the room and see what was going on. One of these 
visiters is a gentleman, I believe, now living — Charles Jones. 
Although a very small boy, I recollect distinctly the drollery for 
which he is, even yet, so much distinguished, and with which he 
used then to set the tables in a roar. Maxwell Armstrong, our 
Latin usher, — and the only popular usher I have ever known — 
was another of the visiters, and a great favorite with me. 

" There were two other visiters whom 1 saw only once each at 
the Major's, but whose visits led to one of my small accomplish- 
ments. Doctor Charles Beatty of Georgetown, brought up his flute 
and regaled the ladies one evening in the garden with his music. A 
Mr. Eckland, a Hessian or Prussian, a teacher of music in George- 
town, also came up on one occasion, when there was a great effort 
to get a musical instrument for him to play on. The house afforded 
nothing better than a wretched fiddle, — on which Major M. used 
to play, for his children, the only tune he knew, with these words — 

'Three or four sheepskins 

Wrong sides outwards ; 
Cut them down, cut them down. 

Cut them down and tan them.' 

" There was, besides, a cracked flute, from which no one of the 
family had ever been able to draw a note. Mr. Eckland repudi- 
ated the fiddle, but, with the aid of a little bees-wax to stop the 
crack, and a little water to wash and wet the bore, he made the 
flute discourse most eloquent music. — What a strange thing is 
memory ! I can see the man at this moment and hear him strike up 
' the White Cockade' — for this was the first tune he played ; and 
he threw it off' with a spirit and animation of which Dr. Beatty had 
given me no idea. Thereafter, whenever the room was empty, I 
used to steal to the bookpress in which that old flute was kept, 
and whispering in the aperture — for I could not blow, and dared 
not, if I could — try to finger such tunes as I knew. In this way I 
learned to play several tunes, of which Yankee Doodle was the 
chief, before I could fill the flute with a single note. 



40 AFOXHUNT. [1772—1783. 

" On one occasion Dr. Smith of Georgetown — the father of the 
very respectable family of that name now at that place, came up 
to Major M's. with two or three other gentlemen, bringing with 
him a large pack of hounds, in preparation for a fox-chase. This 
was a new incident to me and full of the liveliest interest. On 
this occasion old Mr. Flint developed an accomplishment of which 
I had never suspected him. Having got pretty 'high up' with 
drinking, he sang a hunting song and one of the old songs of Ro- 
bin Hood, of which my children have often heard me sing several 
verses caught from Mr. Flint's exhibition at this frolic. His pic- 
ture is now before me — for he acted as well as sang, and repeated 
his verses as long as any one would listen. I slept but little the 
night before the hunt, and before day-break I was waked from my 
slumbers, by the turning of the hounds out of the cellar and the 
uproar raised in the yard by them and the horns. I dressed my- 
self quickly and sighed, as the party moved olf, because I could 
not follow them. On my way to school that morning, with what 
longing regret did I listen to the distant notes of the hounds in full 
cry upon their track, until the last sound was lost behind the re- 
mote woodland ! To those who have not an ear for sounds nor an 
eye for pictures, it would be incredible, if I were to describe the 
effect which this scene had upon my imagination ; and to this day 
I know nothing in the way of spectacle or music, to compare, for 
its power of excitement, with a well equipped and gay parly of 
hunters following a pack of hounds in full cry." 

Here ends all that we are able to obtain from these simple and 
pleasant recollections. The writer broke them off abruptly at this 
early stage of his history, purposing to resume them when the 
graver duties of his high office might allow him again the refresh- 
ment of these draughts of youthful memory. His busy profes- 
sional life forbade this indulgence, and has left us reason to regret 
that the same hand has not sketched his continued advance to 
manhood. 



CHAPTER II. 

1783— 17S7. 

IMAGINA'J'IVE TEMPERAMENT HIS STUDIES.—WHOLESOME INFLUENCE OF 

MR. HUNT.— HIS LIBRARY SKETCHES BY CRUSE — VERSE MAKING — FIRST 

LITERARY EFFORT, A PROSE SATIRE ON THE USHER ITS CONSEQUENCES— 

A SCHOOL INCIDENT A VICTORY VISIT TO THE COURT HOUSE OF MONT- 
GOMERY MR. DORSEY THE MOOT COURT.— ITS CONSTITUTION — SCHOOL 

EXERCISES. 

The memoir Avhich we have just closed presents us nearly all 
lliat is known of William Wirt up to his eleventh year. It suf- 
ficiently indicates the temperament of the boy, and gives us no 
slight glimpses of the future aspirations of the man. The lively 
pictures which it presents of those scenes and persons which dwelt 
on his memory, show how keenly his youthful observation was 
impressed by the quaint and grotesque images which surrounded 
him. They show, too, with what a relish he noted the simple rural 
objects and employments that were familiar to his childhood, and 
how true an eye and how true a heart he had for the kindly things 
and influences that fell in the way of his youthful experience. 
These qualities of mind and character continued to expand during 
his life, and were the constant source of that attraction which 
encircled him, to the last of his days, with troops of admiring 
friends. 

We shall have occasion to note, more than once in the course of 
these pages, the poetical complexion of Mr. Wirt's mind, the some- 
what prurient predominance of his imagination, and the alacrity 
with which he was ever ready to digress from the actual to the 
ideal of life. The almost inseparable quality of such a tempera- 
ment is diffidence, that shy reserve which is much more frequently 
the result of pride and a high self-estimate than of humility. A 
sensibility to the criticism which our perception enables us to fore- 
see and expect, from those who are capable of a shrewd insight into 
our conduct, is most generally the source of that modesty which is 
observable in an ingenuous and quick-sighted boy. Its usual ac- 

VOL. 1 — 4* 



42 HIS STUDIES. [1783-17S7. 



companiment is an exterior of thoughtfulness and quiet observation 
in the presence of the world, united with a gay, light-hearted ease 
amonsrst those in whom household association and familiar endear- 
ment have begotten that confidence which takes away the appre- 
hension of censure. The observant eye of his aunt, with whom 
the orphan child had been domesticated in his tenderest age, 
detected this trait in his character, in the first years of their inter- 
course; and, noticing these alternatives of a playful and thoughtful 
temper, she once remarked, when his uncle was debating with her 
the question of his education—" when 1 look at that dear child, he 
scarcely seems one of us, and I weep when I think of him." Such 
an expression would seem to indicate some early presage, afforded 
by the boy, of that superiority which his riper years developed. 

Wirt remained at Mr. Hunt's school, in Montgomery county, 
until it was broken up in 1787. During the last two years of this 
period he was an inmate of Mr. Hunt's family. We shall often 
find, in the course of his correspondence, a pleasant remembrance 
of this family and its dwelling place, which bore the classical 
name of the Tusculum. 

Mr. Hunt seems to have exercised a happy influence over the 
character of his pupil. He was a man of cultivated mind, liberal 
study and philosophic temper. He possessed, what in those days 
was no common advantage, a pretty good library. He had, be- 
sides, a pair of globes and some instruments of a philosophical ap- 
paratus. He was communicative, and quick to appreciate the 
tastes of his scholars, and, from all accounts, kindly and indulgent 
in his intercourse with them. 

Youno- Wirt found in this association much to advance him on 
his way. He acquired some little insight into astronomy, some 
taste for physics, some relish for classical study, but above all, 
some sharpness of appetite for the amusements atforded by "the 
run of the library^ He studied Josephus, Guy of Warwick and 
Pere^-rine Pickle, the old dramas. Pope, Addison and Home's 
Elements of Criticism, wath equal avidity and with indiscriminate 
faith. The library cheated him out of many a worse recreation, 
and whilst it captivated his boyish imagination with its world of 
treasures, it served also to implant in his mind that love of various 
lore, which seeks its enjoyment among the flowers that enamel the 



CHAP. 11] 



HIS STUDIES. 48 



broad fields of literature, rather than among the gems which lie 
in the depths only accessible to the miner. 

It is sometimes regarded as the misfortune of sprightly and appre- 
hensive genius, that it is apt to be lured from its graver and more 
profitable toil by the attractions of this vagrant course of reading. 
If this be true in any instance, it cannot be denied that many men, 
who have won distinction by their intellectual accomplishments, 
have been able to trace their first impulses towards an honorable 
renown, to the opportunities afforded by a miscellaneous library, 
and to the tastes which it has enabled them to improve. Mr. 
Wirt, in after life, was accustomed to speak in terms of regret of 
the habit of immethodical reading which, acquired in early youth, 
had, as he supposed, somewhat injuriously diverted his time from 
systematic study. He was, we are inclined to believe, mistaken 
in his estimate of this disadvantage. There seems to have been, 
in his case, quite a sufficient concentration of methodised study, in 
the pursuit of his own laborious profession, to justify and com- 
mend the habit of light and excursive reading in all other depart- 
ments of science or literature. He has also afforded many agree- 
able manifestations, that the zealous and persevering lawyer had 
cultivated, with no small success, that general scholarship which 
is so seldom combined with professional excellence, and which 
constitutes, wherever it exists, the most graceful and attractive 
of its adjuncts. Genius generally finds its own path. Its first 
instinct is to wander over the surface of its own world, until it 
may light upon that which shall gratify its proper appetite. Its 
affinities prompt it to ramble in search of the congenial things 
nature has provided for it ; and it seldoms falls out that the errant 
spirit does not, in due time, come to its appointed destination. It 
may be said to have been Mr. Wirt's characteristic quality of 
mind, to perceive and keenly to relish the riches of that upper 
world of thought, which is pictured to us under the felicitous 
designation of humane letters. These, comprehending in their 
scope nearly every thing that is graceful in aesthetics, every thing 
that is beautiful in art, glowing in poetry, and eloquent in thought, 
present to the student a field of various observation, which can 
only be cultivated and enjoyed by the most apparently desultory 
study. He, therefore, who has a true perception of the delights 
of such study, may scarcely fail to be accounted a capricious and 



44 HIS STUDIES. [17S3-1787. 

rambling reader, whenever his pursuit shall come to be measured 
by the severer rules which the student of one science finds it 
necessary to observe in his own labor. 

For many particulars relating to the earlier portion of Mr. 
Wirt's life, I am happy to express my obligations to a rapid but 
careful biographical sketch, which was written by Peter Hoffman 
Cruse of Baltimore, in 1832, under circumstances which give it 
great value as an authentic narrative, and which is not less worthy 
of commendation for its graceful and scholarlike style of composi- 
tion. I should scarcely do justice to my subject, if I forbore to 
avail myself of the material presented to me from a source so 
friendly and, at the same time, so accurate. I shall not scruple 
to use it as often as I may find occasion.* 

* The sketch referred to in the text was written by Mr. Cruse upon an engage- 
ment with the Messrs. Harpers of New York in 1832, just after Mr. Wirt's nomi- 
nation as a candidate for the Presidency, and was designed to accompany a repub- 
lication of Mr. Wirt's literary productions. This repubUcation,— for reasons with 
which I am not acquainted — did not proceed beyond the reprint of the British Spy, 
to which the biographical sketch I have alluded to was prefixed. At the time of 
the nomination of Mr. Wirt for the Presidency, by a singular coincidence of cir- 
cumstances a narrative of his life was in contemplation from one or two quarters 
totally disconnected from the political object which may be supposed to have made 
it then a matter of interest to the public. Mr. Longacre was engaged in his Work 
of National Portraits, and had applied to Mr. Wirt for some materials for a sketch 
of his history to accompany an engraved likeness for this work. The task of fur- 
nishing these had been committed to Judge Carr of tlie Court of Appeals of Vir- 
ginia. Mr. Salmon P. Chase, a friend to Mr. Wirt's nomination, and, still more 
intimately, his personal friend, a gentleman accomphshed in elegant letters, — re- 
cently brought more conspicuously to the view of the country as a Senator of the 
United States from Ohio — had also taken the matter of a biography into his hands. 
But the enterprise of the Messrs. Harpers being stimulated by a more direct refer- 
ence to the nomination, took the place of all other biographical projects, and con- 
signed the task to the very competent hands of Mr. Cruse. 

Cruse was a finished scholar, of exquisite taste, and gifted with talents which 
would have secured him an enviable eminence in the literal ure of tliis country. 
He fell a victim to the cholera, in Baltimore, on the 6th of September, 1832, not 
long after the completion of the biography above mentioned. The country thus lost 
one whose accomplishment in letters was just beginning to bring him reputation, 
and whose career, if he had lived, would have been distinguished by the finest ex- 
hibitions of intellectual excellence. The materials for his sketch were derived 
from an intimate personal acquaintance with Mr. Wirt, whose just appreciation of 
liim was shown in the most cordial and confidential social communion. The inci- 
dents of this biograpliical sketch were supplied by the friends of Mr. Wirt, by his 
family, and by the biograj)her"s own personal knowledge of his subject. The sketch 
itself was submitted to Mr. Wirt, and so far corrected by him as to secure it against 



CHAP. II.] 



SKETCHES BY CRUSE. 46 



Mr. Hunt's library suggested to our pupil some effort of rivalry 
with one of its heroes, in the dainty occupation of verse making. 
He read how Pope had first tempted his muse at twelve years of 
as:e. He himself was now thirteen : — why should'nt he versify as 
well .' He tried his hand at it, and, very naturally, failed. He 
accordingly resolved that Nature had not made him a versifier. 
There was, however, the world of prose open to him, and forth- 
with he set out upon that quest. Amongst several essays, in this 
sort, one fell into Mr. Hunt's hands, and was most agreeably re- 
ceived, with abundance of praise. I must give the history of it 
as it comes from the friendly biographer.* 

" It was engendered by a school incident, and was a piece of 
revenge more legitimate than schoolboy invention is apt to inflict 
when sharpened by wrongs, real or imaginary. There was an usher 
at the school ; and this usher who was more learned and methodical 
than even-tempered, was one morning delayed in the customary 
routine by the absence of his principal scholar, who was young 
Wirt himself. In his impatience he went often to the door, and 
espying some boys clinging, like a knot of bees, to a cherry tree 
not far off, he concluded that the expected absentee was of the 
number, and nursed his wrath accordingly. The truth was that the 
servant of a neighbor, with whom Wirt was boarding at the time, 
had gone that morning to mill, and the indispensable breakfast had 
been delayed by his late return. This apology, however, was urged 
in vain on the usher, who charged, in corroboration, the plunder of 
the cherry tree : and though this was as stoutly as truly rejoined to 
be the act of an English school hard by, the recitation of Master 
Wirt proceeded under very threatening prognostics of storm. The 
lesson was in Cicero, and at every hesitation of the reciter, the 
eloquent volume, brandished by the yet chafing tutor, descended 
within an inch of his head, — without quailing his facetiousness how- 

any inaccuracy of statement of fact. I may add, that my own constant intercourse 
with Mr. Cruse, during the preparation of that sketch, and a familiar acquaintance 
with the individual to whom it refers, enable me to give an additional assurance of 
its authenticity. I can only indulge, now, the unavailing regret that its author, so 
rich as he was in the arts of "wit, eloquence, and poesy," had not survived to unite 
with me in the grateful labor of this task, to render a joint tribute of our homage to 
the distinguished subject of our memoirs — partaking, as we both did, in equal 
degree, of the pleasure of his society and the kindness of liis regard. 

• Cruse's Sketch. 



46 ENCOUNTER WITH AN USHER. [1783—1787. 

ever, — for he said archly, ' Take care or you'll kill me.' We 
have heard better timed jests since, from the dexterous orator, for 
the next slip brouglit a blow in good earnest, which being as for- 
cible as if logic herself, w^ith her ' closed fist,' had dealt it, 
felled our hero to the ground. ' I'll pay you for this if I live,' — 
said the fallen champion, as he rose from the field. 

'"Pay me, will you.^' — said the usher, quite furious; — 'you 
will never live to do that.' 

" 'Yes I will' — said the boy. 

" Our youth was an author, be it remembered, and that is not a 
race to take an injury, much less an atlront, calmly. The quill, 
too, was a fair weapon against an usher; and, by way of vent to 
his indignation at this and other continued outrages, but with no 
view to what so seriously fell out from it, in furtherance of his 
revenge, he indited, some time afterward, an ethical essay on 
Anger. In this, after due exhibition of its unhappy effects, which, 
it may be, would have enlightened Seneca, though he has himself 
professed to treat the same subject, he reviewed those relations 
and functions of life most exposed to the assaults of this fury. A 
parent with an undutiful son, said our moralist, must often be very 
angry, a master with his servant, an innkeeper with his guests ; — 
but it is an usher that must the oftenest be vexed by this bad pas- 
sion, and, right or wrong, find himself in a terrible rage. And so 
he went on in a manner very edifying and very descriptive of the 
case, character and manner of the expounder of Cicero. 

" Well pleased with his work, our author found a most admiring 
reader in an elder boy who, charmed with the mischief as much as 
the wit of the occasion, pronounced it a most excellent per- 
formance, and very fit for a Saturday morning's declamation. In 
vain did our wit object strenuously the dangers of this mode of 
})ublication. The essay was got by heart and declaimed in the 
presence of the school and of the usher himself, who, enraged at 
the satire, demanded the writer, otherwise threatening the de- 
claimer with the rod. His magnanimity was not proof against 
this, and he betrayed the incof^nito of our author, who happened 
the same evening to be in his garret, when master usher, the ob- 
noxious satire in hand, came into the apartment below to lay his 
complaint before his principal. Mr. Hunt's house was one of those 
one-story rustic mansions, yet to be seen in Maryland, where the 



CHAP. II.] • A VICTORY. 47 



floor of the attic, without the intervention of ceiling, forms the 
roof of the apartment below — so that the culprit could easily be 
the hearer, and even the partial spectator, of the inquisition held 
on his case. 'Let us see this o(fcnsive libeP — said the preceptor; 
and awful were the tirst silent moments of its perusal, which were 
broken, — first by a suppressed titter, and, finally, to the mighty 
relief of the listener, by a loud burst of laughter. — ' Pooh ! pooh ! 

Mr. this is but the sally of a lively boy, and best say no 

more about it: besides that, inforo conscienlicc, we can hardly find 
him guilty of the publication!' 

" This was a victory ; and when Mr. Hunt left the room, the 
conqueror, tempted to sing his ' lo Triumphe' in some song al- 
lusive to the country of the discomfited party, who was a foreigner, 
was put to flight by the latter's rushing furiously into the attic, 
and snatching from under his pillow some hickories, the fasces of 
his ofhce, and infiicting some smart strokes on the flying satirist, 
who did not stay, like Voltaire, to write a receipt for them. The 
usher left the school in dudgeon not long afterward, like the worthy 
ill the doggrel rhymes — ■ 

' The hero who tlid 'sist upon 't. 
He woultl'ut be deputy to Mr. Hunt.' 

" Many years after, the usher and his scholar met again. Age 
and poverty had overtaken the poor man, and his former pupil had 
the opportunity of showing him some kindnesses which were 
probably not lessened by the recollection of this unpremeditated 
revenge." 

This was quite a prosperous entrance into the world of letters. 
The pleasant remembrance of this early triumph is one, amongst 
many evidences which 1 may have occasion to notice hereafter, of 
the earnest appreciation with which the distinguished lawyer was 
wont to regard the pursuit of literary fame, which, as it seemed, 
an adverse destiny had constantly placed beyond his enjoyment, 
though never, as the reader of these pages will find, beyond his 
hopes. 

Mr. Hunt's discipline contributed to awaken the ambition of his 
pupil to another renown, not less conspicuous in his career. Let- 
ters were always the passion of William Wirt, — a passion fore- 
doomed against enjoyment, the Tantalus cup of his life. The law 



48 THE MOOT COURT. [1783—1787. 

was, in equal degree, his chosen field of eminence, pursued at 
all times with the eager love of a votary, and, more propitious to 
liim than its rival, the bountiful source of fame and wealth. His 
first introduction to its temple was at this era of his boyhood. 
Mr. Hunt was in the habit of taking his pupils to the Montgomery 
County Court, in term time, to give them some insight into those 
mysteries which may be said to be, in this country, the ladder to 
all preferment, and which certainly at the date of this adventure, 
much more than at present, was the chief aid by which men 
climbed to eminence. The court house was some four miles from 
the school. The whole troop, headed by the Domine, went on 
foot, and with due solemnity entered the rustic hall of justice, 
and took their seats in the unoccupied jury box. Amonst the 
pleaders one of the youngest was William H. Dorsey, well 
known 4o the school and neighborhood. He was clever, quick 
and courageous in his encounters with the older brethren; so, 
he naturally became the favorite of the schoolhouse auditory, and 
grew to be a hero in their eyes. Boys have a great instinct for 
hero worship; — and worship with them is imitation. Dorsey was 
not much older than the oldest of those who sat to hear and ap- 
plaud him. " Why should not we have a court of our own .?" 
"Agreed." — So, forthwith we have a little temple of Themis in 
Mr. Hunt's school-room. Wirt was appointed to draw up the 
constitution. He was, manifestly, the Dorsey of the new forum. 
The constitution was prepared with all the necessary complica- 
tions to meet the contingencies of its broad and delicate jurisdic- 
tion, and was reported, with a modest letter of apology for its 
imperfections, by the author. 

This was his first forensic essay. There were occasional 
speechmakings in public at the school, and the practice also of " cap- 
ping verses" — one of those ingenious devices by which off'-hand 
orators are supplied with a motley of shreds and patches cut from 
classical cloths, and preserved as the staple for that impromptu 
wit and learning which, in the last age, was regarded as one of the 
chief ornaments of scholarship, — now, fortunately, somewhat jos- 
tled aside for wholesome Anglo-Saxon. In all these exercitations 
Wirt was a common victor and carried oil' whatsoever prize he 
had a mind to win. 



CHAPTER III. 

1787—1792. 

FRIENDS PETER A. CARNES BENJAMIN EDWARDS — NINIAN EDWARDS — BB- 

COMES A TUTOR IN MR. EDWARDS' FAMILY.— USEFUL EMPLOYMENT OF 

HIS TIME.— STUDIES.— JOURNEY TO GEORGIA RETURNS TO MONTGOMERY 

AND STUDIES LAW WITH W. P. HUNT REMOVES TO VIRGINIA — STUDIES 

WITH MR. SWANN.— IS ADMITTED TO PRACTISE BY THE CULPEPPER 
COURT. 

Mr. Hunt's school was discontinued in the year 1787. Wirt 
was now in his fifteenth year. But little remained of his funall pa- 
trimony, and he was brought to the necessity of seeking the means 
to support himself. He was not without friends. His happy and 
confiding temper attracted the good will of his schoolfellows. 
His talents won the esteem of his teachers. The sympathy ex- 
cited by his orphanage and the humility of his deportment brought 
him more than one protector. 

Mr. Peter A. Carnes was an early patron and most useful friend 
to our pupil. This gentleman belonged to the bar of Maryland. 
He was the owner of a considerable landed estate in Clia^les 
county, and, being a cultivator of tobacco, his occasions, both as 
a planter and as a professional man, often brought him to Bladens- 
burg. Here he was accustomed to take his lodgings in the public 
house which was kept by Jacob Wirt. He thus became inti- 
mate with the family, and had the best opportunities to observe 
the character of the young and sprightly boy whose qualities were 
so well adapted to captivate his regard. This acquaintance 
ripened into a strong and lasting attachment, which was subse- 
quently manifested in the most substantial proofs of friendship to 
the family. 

When Jacob Wirt died, Mr. Carnes charged himself, to some 
extent, with the control and guidance of the children of the 
family, of whom the eldest was Elizabeth, the senior of William 
by some ten years. There is reason to believe that Mr. Carnes 
assumed the direction of the education of William, and perhaps 

VOL, 1 — 5 



50 PETER A. CARNES. [1797—1792, 

of Elizabeth, and defrayed the expenses of this charge chiefly out 
of his own pocket. William was consigned by him to the care of 
Mr. Dent, in Charles county ; and Mr. Carnes himself, — accord- 
ing to some memorials of his family, which I have seen, — provided 
for him that comfortable homestead, where he was sheltered and 
made happy by " good Mrs. Love" and her family, in the memory 
of which the grateful pupil found so much pleasure. 

Some years after this Mr. Carnes removed to Georgia and set- 
tled himself in the neighborhood of Augusta, where he obtained 
eminence as a lawyer. Elizabeth Wirt was, at this time, grown 
to womanhood ; her mother was dead, and she and her brother, 
we may suppose, were left in a condition to attract the sympathy 
and consideration of their good friend. Mr. Carnes sent for them 
both to come and live with him. William's destiny directed him 
to another quarter; but his sister obeyed the summons of her kind 
protector, who, soon after her arrival in Georgia, fortified his title 
to that relation by making her his wife. 

In the few letters and other papers I have been able to collect, 
referring to this portion of Mr. Wirt's life, there is abundant evi- 
dence of the concern of Mr. Carnes in the fortunes of his young 
friend, and of the valuable service rendered by him to his protege, 
at that age when friendly counsel is most needed. 

Besides Mr. Carnes, there was another who now took an interest 
in the success of the youthful scholar, and whose connection with 
him had the most happy influence in shaping his career to that 
eminence which he afterwards achieved. This friend was Benja- 
min Edwards, at that date a resident of Montgomery county. 
His son, Ninian Edwards, — who, in after years, successively held 
the post of first Territorial Governor of Illinois, then Senator 
from that State, and afterwards the Governor of it — was the com- 
rade and classmate of Wirt in Mr. Hunt's school. When this 
school was broken up and our disbanded student had returned to 
Bladensburg, as to a point from which to make a new start in 
life, young Edwards happened to take with him to his father's 
house the constitution of the moot court to which I have referred 
in a former chapter, and, along with it, the report or prefatory let- 
ter. This was probably exhibited in the family as one of those 
achievements which, in the world of schoolboys, are magnified for 
purposes of renown, with a more aflcclionatc exaggeration than we 



CHAP. III.] BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 51 

are apt to hear of in the larQ:er world. This triumph of the aca- 
demy thus came to the eye of Mr. Edwards, the father, and doubt- 
less with no modicum of praise of the cleverness of the author. 
The result was, in brief space, a letter from the father to young 
Wirt, inviting him to a station in the family, as a private tutor to 
his son Ninian and two nephews, who were all contemplating a 
transfer to college, and who stood in need of some preparatory 
study, which, it was thought, Wirt was qualified to direct. 

This invitation, in any aspect a most agreeable one, was ren- 
dered still more acceptable by the assurance which accompanied 
it, that Mr. Edwards' library should be at the service of the new 
teacher for the prosecution of his own reading. A summons so 
opportune to this new field of duty was, of course, quickly and 
gratefully accepted, and the pupil, now converted into a teacher, 
was most comfortably established at Mount Pleasant — as this seat 
was appropriately called — in the bosom of a hospitable, cultivated 
and estimable family. 

Mr. Edwards had been a member of the Legislature of Mar}'- 
land ; — had acquired reputation in that body as a skilful and ac- 
complished debater. In this relation he had attracted the com- 
mendation and friendship of the great leader, in that day, of the 
politics of the State — Samuel Chase. He was, besides, well 
versed in general literature; his mind was strong, direct, and 
trained to reflection; his demeanor challenged respect and 
esteem by its dignity ; his character, public and private, was dis- 
tinguished for lofty patriotism and inflexible virtue. His manners 
were affable and particularly agreeable to the young, with whom 
he was fond of associating, — charming them by instructive convert 
sation, which the benevolence of his disposition and his ready 
sympathy with the tastes and interests of his youthful auditory, 
rendered manifold in its useful impressions upon them. 

This is the outline of the character Mr. Wirt was wont to give 
of his early friend. How fortunate may we regard him in being 
brought within the sphere of such a man's influence ! It is one of 
the most pleasant traits in the history of the subject of this biog- 
raphy, that to the last day of his life he could not speak of Benja- 
min Edwards but with the strong emotions of a grateful affection 
which seemed to be even more than filial. AVe shall see many 



52 BENJAMIN EDWARDS. [1787—1792. 

evidences of this generous recognition in the letters which may be 
introduced into the future pages of this narrative. 

" You have tauglit me," he says, in one of these letters, written 
to his old friend at a date when he had conquered the obstacles 
of poverty, and had hewn his way to a profitable as ^vell as a bril- 
liant reputation — "to love you like a parent. Well, indeed may 
I do so, since to you, to the influence of your conversation, your 
precepts and your example in the most critical and decisive period 
of my life, I owe whatever of useful or good there may be in the 
bias of my mind and character. Continue then, I implore you, to 
think of me as a son, and teach your children to regard me as a 
brother: they shall find me one, indeed, if the wonder-working 
dispensations of Providence should ever place them in want of a 
brothers arm or mind or bosom." 

The young tutor's final destination w^as the bar. With much to 
justify an augury of success in this profession, he had also some 
drawbacks. He was shy and timid in any public exhibition of 
himself His enunciation was thick and indistinct, marked by a 
nervous rapidity of utterance. Both of these may be regarded as 
great embarrassments in the way of a profession which requires the 
utmost intrepidity of self-protrusion, and whose outward and visi- 
ble manifestation exists more in round, clear and dauntless speech, 
than in any other attribute by which it can be made known. 

Mr. Edwards soon observed these defects in his young friend, 
and with a persuasive and gentle skill set himself about removing 
them. He narrated to him, by way of encouragement, some inci- 
dents in his own experience, — particularly those which belonged to 
his debut in the Legislature, in which he gave a strong picture of 
his embarrassment, his confusion and fear of breaking down, and 
his surprise at his safe deliverance, and the compliment paid him 
by Mr. Chase when he had supposed his failure complete. He 
sometimes took occasion also to rally his listener upon his diffi- 
dence; and to give him some adequate conception of the little room 
he had to fear the competition of Avhat was understood to be the 
most formidable class of antagonists he might be compelled to 
encounter in life. He fortified this lesson, by assuring him, that 
there were not many of those who had arisen to distinction who 
had not to contend with obstacles as great as his own. Dorsey 
and Pinkney, both young men at that period, and both beginning 



CHAP. Ill] USEFUL EMPLOYMENT. 53 

to attract the observation of tlie community, were held up by Mr. 
Edwards to his comment. " Dorsey," said lie, "whom you so 
much admire, and Pinkney whom you will admire still more when 
you shall have seen him, are making their own way to distinction 
under as great disadvantages as any you have to encounter."* 

With whatever distrust, the shy student at that time received 
these friendly persuasives, and however incredulous he might be of 
the hopes his friend was endeavoring to implant in his mind, it 
was not many years before he had realized more than had been 
promised him. A letter from Mr. Edwards reached him at Wil- 
liamsburg in the palmy day of his career, fondly recalling to him 
the predictions of this early time in Montgomery, and exulting, 
with the pride which a father only might be supposed to feel in 
the advancement of a son, at the fulfilment of the prophecy. 

Twenty happy and useful months were spent under the roof of 
Mr. Edwards. In the successive occupations of classical study, 
of instructive conversation, and preparations for that profession to 
which he was hereafter to devote his life, Wirt found, at this 
epoch, the most solid benefits. In the contemplation of that robust 
and manly character which was daily presented to his notice in 
his patron and friend ; in the dignity of deportment, lofty virtue 
and massive good sense of this worthy gentleman ; in the unosten- 
tatious simplicity of the family, their genuine kindness and indul- 
gent consideration of himself, he found daily a stimulus to the cul- 
tivation of the virtues both of his heart and head, and the strongest 
incentives towards the fulfilment of those aspirations for renown 
which, in after life, he so successfully accomplished. 

At the expiration of this period, his health became somewhat 
impaired. By the advice of friends, he determined to make a 
journey on horseback to Georgia, and spend the winter with his 
friend and brother-in-law, Mr. Carnes, and his sister, whom he 
had not seen since her marriage. 

We have no narrative or remembrances of this journey to refer 
to. It was undertaken towards the end of the year 1789. The 
traveller set out alone. He was in his seventeenth year. The 
way was long, and a great deal of it lay through a dreary wilder- 
ness of pine-forest and sand. It was no light enterprise in that 

* Cruse. 
VOL. 1 — 5* 



54 JOURNEY TO GEORGIA. [1737—1792. 



day; — but we may well imagine that to the cheerful boy, so full 
of pleasant fancies and rosy hopes, the wayside brought no 
weariness. In the first outlook of a youth of seventeen upon the 
world, mounted upon his steed; with a purse sufficiently stored to 
bring him to his journey's end ; with all his worldly goods packed 
on a pad behind his saddle ; with a gay heart in his bosom, and a 
sunshiny face beneath his beaver,— what is there on the globe to 
make him sad? No shadow upon his path ever takes a gloomy 
hue, no lonesome by-way finds him unaccompanied with pleasant 
thoughts, no fatigue overmasters or subdues the buoyancy of his 
mind; the rain and the wind bring no melancholy when they drive 
against his breast. The swollen river which, in some mountain 
gorge, compels him to a halt, is but a picturesque hindrance which 
he has the boldness to tempt, or the patience to wait for. Night- 
fall but heightens the romance of his dreams, as he holds his way, 
guided by some distant taper, to the rude shelter of a woodman's 
hut. The hearth to which he has found this doubtful path, 
gleams with a light more cheerful than the illuminations of a 
palace, when its rays are thrown upon the homely group of the 
woodman's family from the blazing faggots, kindled to prepare for 
him a supper with which no banquet in his elder day is to be 
compared. 

If our young adventurer had kept a journal of this expedition 
we should, doubtless, have had abundant material from which to 
illustrate the content and joy with which sucii experiences would 
be recorded. 

The Southern winter seems to have told well upon his constitu- 
tion. He had been threatened with a pulmonary complaint which 
had excited some alarm in his friends, and it was supposed he 
might find it to the advantage of his health, as well as to the pro- 
fessional career to which he directed his views, to make a perma- 
nent settlement in Georgia. The journey on horseback, however, 
and the genial winter of that region wrought a rapid change in his 
condition, and enabled him to pursue his aims in a quarter more 
attractive to his regards, and, as we must believe from the result, 
more favorable to the objects of his ambition. His vigor was 
restored and he returned to Maryland in the spring. 

He now took up his abode at JNIontgomery Court House, and 
entered upon the study of the law with William P. Hunt, the son 



CHAP. III.] 



JOURNEY TO GEORGIA. 55 



of his former preceptor. In this position he remained about a year, 
and then, for the first time, went to reside in Virginia. 

I find a reference to tliis removal and the causes which led to it, 
in one of the few early letters which have fallen under my notice. 
It is addressed to Mr. Carncs, in Georgia, in November, 1792. 

" While with Mr. Hunt," he writes, " a friend informed me 
of a very advantageous station for a lawyer in the State of Virginia. 
Every body urged me to seize it. The law of Virginia required 
from me twelve months residence in the state, and a previous 
examination by three of the Judges of the General Court. I re- 
moved my residence immediately to Virginia, and after residing 
about five months under a Mr. Swann* — an acquaintance and 
school-mate of Tom Carnes, and a young fellow of distinguished 
legal abilities, — I applied to the judges for a license; by a manceuvre 
removed the objection of non-residence, and, after a minute scru- 
tiny into my information, obtained the signature of three of their 
Honors to my license. 1 have disposed of my property, and am 
now over (this letter is written from Prince George's county, 
Maryland,) for the purpose of receiving the money. Immediately 
upon the reception of this, I commence the practice of the law." 

This is the introduction of William Wirt to Virginia, a state 
Avith whose fame he grew to be almost inseparably identified, and 
towards which he never ceased to look with the atlection of a 
child for a parent. 

What was the nature of the " manoeuvre" by which he circum- 
vented their " Honors" and thus got himself prematurely ensconced 
in the bosom of that bountiful mother, we are not informed. But 
we may, with some reason, account that to be a pious fraud which 
so successfully gave this dutiful and reverential son to a family 

* My readers will recognize in this reference, Mr. Thomas Swann, a distinguished 
memher of the bar of Washington, and for several years District Attorney of the 
United States in that city. The acquaintance between him and Mr. Wirt, which 
commenced at this early period, ripened into a cordial friendship which was main- 
tained throughout life unbroken, and was manifested in the constant habitual ex- 
change of kindness which the proximity of residence enabled them to practice to the 
latest day of Mr. Wirt's life. Some few letters, the fragments only of a frequent 
correspondence between them remain. I have particularly to regret my failure to 
procure that portion of it which belonged to the earlier period of Mr. Wirt's career, 
in which I had hoped to find some instructive details of his life. This may possibly 
yet be recovered. 



56 ADMITTED TO THE BAR. [1787-1792. 



which has never ceased, from that moment, to regard him as one 
of its most cherished favorites. In a more worldly sense, too, it 
may be reckoned as a token of the future prosperity of the young 
lawyer, whose first case was won by so commendable a piece of 
sharp-sightedness. Let us, on our part, look to this incident both 
as a pledge of attachment and fealty to the new sovereign from its 
new subject, and a proof of his adaptation to that profession which 
owes so much of its thrift if not its glory, to the dexterity which 
is occasionally called to display itself in finding out an unguarded 
point in the outworks of the law. 

The Court in which he was admitted to practise, was that of 
Culpepper county, and his residence was accordingly taken at 
the court house village. 



CHAPTER IV. 

1792 — 1794. 

HIS LIBRARY.— FIRST CASE DIFFICULTIES ATTENDING IT— IS ASSISTED 

BY A FRIEND A TRIUMPH HIS COMPANIONABLE QUALITIES — HABITS 

OF DESULTORY STUDY PRACTISES IN ALBEMARLE. 

We have the young practitioner now fairly embarked upon the 
sea of his profession. 

There is good authority for saying that his library and profes- 
sional equipment were not of the most various or effective de- 
scription. He has told the story himself, that his whole magazine 
of intellectual artillery, at this period, comprised no other muni- 
tions than a copy of Blackstone, two volumes of Don Quixotte 
and a volume of Tristram Shandy. Behind these, there was, pro- 
bably, a twelve-months study, partly, no doubt, travelled along 
the flinty highway of Coke and Littleton, but, we may be pretty 
confident in the conjecture, not less diligently conversant with the 
secret and pleasant byways of Tom Jones, Roderick Random 
and their kindred adventurers. 

He was now upon a theatre to which he had anxiously aspired, 
and one which would surely try his metal. He came to this pro- 
bation under some fearful disadvantages ; — that is to say, with no 
great store of legal provision, and with his constitutional timidity 
still unconquered. 

Only those who have gone through the ordeal of public contest, 
with this weight upon their shoulders, can estimate the oppres- 
sion, — the horror, I might say — of such a drawback. The ordi- 
nary pursuits of business-life give one no insight into the suffer- 
ings of the public speaker who is compelled to struggle against 
the reluctance of a diffident nature. The young hero of the bus- 
kin when first brought to the footlights to confront that combined 
Hydra and Briareus, an assembled audience, can tell a piteous tale 
of terror, if asked to describe his emotions. The novitiate of a 
legislative hall may give an interesting experience to the same 



58 FIRST CASE. [1792—1794. 

point. But, more severe than eitlier, is the experiment of the dis- 
consolate barrister when he rises, for the first time, to discourse 
the most difficult and perplexing of all human lore in the presence 
of the frowning and solemn majesty of tlie bench; or when he 
faces that personal embodiment of popular justice, the twelve 
" probos et legales homines," which the traverser who "puts 
liiniself upon his country," is taught to believe, by a violent fic- 
tion, to be the country itself, but in which the maiden orator sees 
only a most formidable fragment of it. The young votary who, 
for the first time, stands in this presence, surrounded by its usual 
and characteristic auditory drawn thither by that insatiable love of 
the scenery and incident of the judicial diama, which is prescrip- 
tively the passion of the multitude ; when he sees the compact 
pavement of heads extending into every nook within the horizon 
of his vision, with their multitudinous eyes concentred upon one 
focus, and that focus himself, — all eager to hear every word, the 
general curiosity overcoming all uneasiness of attitude, all dis- 
comfort of the heated atmosphere, all hunger and thirst — what 
is there in Fuseli's imagination of nightmare to give a more fright- 
ful picture of the oppressed brain and bewildered sight than this 
spectacle, presented to a shy and unpractised youth ineffectually 
laboring, in advance, to repress the throes of a consitutional 
diffidence !* 

Such are the trials familiar to those whose professions compel 
them to encounter this discipline. 

Wirt's enunciation was still defective : it was confused and hur- 
ried. His voice, when undisturbed by that timidity which de- 
prived him of his command over it, was rich and melodious. His 
jierson was at this time quite as prepossessing as it w^as remarked 
10 be in his later manhood. His manners w^ere well adapted to 
make friends. 



• One such scene I have witnessed, and I remember the agony with which the 
confused novitiate arose a second time — having been but a moment before com- 
pelled to talce his seat in the hope to collect his routed thoughts. His second es- 
say was not more fortunate than the first. He stood silent for a brief space, and at 
the end was able to say — " Gentlemen, I declare to Heaven, that if I had an enemy 
upon whose head I would invoke the most cruel torture, I could wish him no other 
fate than to stand where I stand now." Curiously enough the sympathy which this 
ajjpeal brought him, seemed almost instantly to give him strength. A short pause 
was followed by another effort which was completely, and even triumphantly suc- 
cessful. 



CHAP. IV.] FIRST CASE. 59 

His first appearance at the bar is described by his biographer 
pretty much from his own account of the incident. It was well 
remembered amongst Mr. Wirt^s early friends. Luckily for him, 
this first accost was attended by some excitements which over- 
mastered his shyness and reserve, and saved him many pains. 
Tiie occasion and its events are set forth wilh so much interest in 
C ruse's memoir, that I take pleasure in offering his description of 
it in his own words. 

" With these advantages and defects, such as they were," 
says the memoir, " he was to begin the competitions of the bar 
in a part of the country where he was quite unknown, and where 
much talent had pre-occupied the ground, with experience on its 
side and acquaintance with the people and their affairs. There is 
no part of the world where, more than in Virginia, these embar- 
rassments would be lessened to a new adventurer; as there is no 
where a more courteous race of gentlemen accessible to the pre- 
possessions which merit excites. There was, however, another 
embarrassment ; our lawyer had no cause. But he encountered 
here a young friend much in the same circumstances, but who had 
a single case, which he proposed to share with Wirt, as the 
means of making a joint debut. With this small stock in trade 
they went to attend the first County Court. 

" Their case was one of joint assault and battery, with joint 
judgment against three, of whom two had been released subse- 
quently to the judgment, and the third, who had been taken in 
execution and imprisoned, claimed the benefit of that release a.s 
enuring to himself Under these circumstances, the matter of dis- 
charge having happened since the judgment, the old remedy was 
by the writ of audita querela. But Mr. Wirt and his associates 
had learned from their Blackstone that the indulgence of courts in 
modern times, in granting summary relief, in such cases, had, in a 
great measure superseded the use of the old writ ; and accordingly 
presented their case in the form of a motion. 

" The motion was opened by Wirt's friend with all the alarm 
of a first essay. The bench was then, in Virginia County Courts, 
composed of the ordinary justices of the peace ; and the elder 
members of the bar, by a usage, the more necessary from the con- 
stitution of the tribunal, frequently interposed as amici curice, or 
informers of the conscience of the court. It appears that on the 



60 A TRIUMPH. [1792—1794. 

case being opened, some of these customary advisers denied that 
a release to one, after judgment, released the other, and they 
denied, also, the propriety of the form of proceeding. The ire of 
our beginner was kindled by this reception of his friend, and by 
this voluntary interference with their motion ; and when he came 
to reply he forgot the natural alarms of the occasion, and main- 
tained his point with recollection and firmness. This awaked the 
generosity of an elder member of the bar, a person of considera- 
tion in the neighborhood and a good lawyer. He stepped in as 
an auxiliary, remarking that he also was amicus curice, and, per- 
haps, as much entitled to act as such as others ; in which capacity 
he would state his conviction of the propriety of the motion, and 
that the court was not at liberty to disregard it; adding that its 
having come from a new quarter gave it but a stronger claim on 
the candor and urbanity of a Virginian bar. The two friends 
carried their point in triumph, and the worthy ally told his 
brethren, in his plain phrase, that they had best make fair weather 
with one who promised to be a thorn in their side. The advice 
was, we dare say, unnecessary. The bar of that county wanted 
neither talent nor courtesy ; and the champion having vindicated 
his pretensions to enter the list, was thenceforward engaged in 
many a courteous passage at arms. 

" The auxiliary mentioned in the above anecdote, was the late 
General John Miner, of Fredericksburg, of whom Wirt, in sub- 
sequent years, often spoke with strong gratitude and esteem. 
'There was never,' he says, 'a more finished and engaging 
gentleman, nor one of a more warm, honest and affectionate 
heart. He was as brave a man and as true a patriot as ever lived. 
He was a most excellent lawyer too, with a most persuasive flow 
of eloquence, simple, natural and graceful, and most affecting 
wherever there was room for pathos; and his pathos was not arti- 
ficial rhetoric; it was of that true sort which flows from a feeling 
heart and a noble mind. He was my firm and constant friend 
from that day through a long life ; and took occasion, several 
times in afier years, to remind me of his prophecy, and to insist 
on my obligation to sustain his ' prophetic reputation.' He left a 
large and most respectable family, and lives embalmed in the 
hearts of all who knew him.' " 



CHAP. IV. DESULTORY STUDY. 61 

In this his first adventure, he was more successful than those 
who knew him best had expected. He was indebted for this, in 
no small degree, to the lucky accident of having his temper 
aroused for the conflict. We may suppose, too, that the aid and 
comfort of that powerful ally to whom the story refers, was felt, 
not less in the kindness and encouragement of a friendly counte- 
nance bestowed upon the young pleader at his first rising, than in 
the substantial assistance given before the trial was ended. The 
sympathy of a good natured face, the warm gaze of a friendly eye, 
and the silent gesture of approbation and assent are potent antidotes 
to the alarms which players are wont to call " the stage fright," 
and what, in the Hall of Themis, we may term, in analogy to 
this, "the fright of the bar." 

The ordeal, however, was past. The ice was broken, and the 
new barrister felt that he might thenceforth walk into the courts 
unquestioned. 

Those who knew Wirt in that day were accustomed to speak 
of him as a gay and happy companion, careless somewhat of the 
labor of his profession, and more disposed to cultivate the con- 
genial pleasures of good fellowship than to pursue, by any painful 
toil, the road to fame. It was therefore usual to say, that, at this 
period of his life, he gave no very recognizable pledge of that 
eminence which he afterwards attained. It may be true that his 
studies were not so conversant with the deeps of legal science, as 
one might demand from the ambitious lawyer, and even that he 
dofled aside the sometimes admonishing hopes of a solid proies- 
sional fame ; but it can scarcely be true that an active and appre- 
hensive mind, such as his, was suffered either to rest for want of 
use, or to devote itself to frivolous or useless subjects. We have 
many evidences in the letters and other papers which have reached 
us, that the most absorbing passion of his nature was a longing for 
that renown which was chiefly to be won in forensic triumphs. We 
may confess it to be equally true that there is apparent, in all that 
has transpired, regarding this portion of the life of Mr. Wirt, a 
sad want of system in his study. There are minds, however, of 
the very highest power, which seem to reject system with instinc- 
tive aversion, and to pursue their aims with what might be called 
a capricious versatility of study ; which, being susceptible of vivid 
impressions from the objects upon which they are employed, are 

VOL. 1 — 6 



62 PRACTISES IN ALBEMARLE. [1792—1794. 

apt to be enticed from the course of methodical occupation by the 
attraction of new pursuits, or driven from it by the weariness or 
pain of the old. 

We may conclude that, to some extent, this remark is applica- 
ble to the character of Mr. Wirt's mind. With an eye quick to 
discern beauty, whether in nature or art, with a teeming and 
active imagination, with a heart full of the charities of life, and 
with a keen zest for the delights of a frank companionship, it 
may be believed that neither his professional zeal, nor his hopes 
of future fame, were, at all times a match for these antagonists, nor 
potent enough to guard him against their seductions ; that both his 
studies and his recreations were likely to seek their pleasures in 
that field where the poetry of life held an acknowledged sway 
over the severer, and we may even say, repulsive studies to which 
" the youth whom the law destines to a bright manhood" is com- 
pelled to devote his time. 

He continued to practise at the bar of Culpepper court some 
one or two years with increasing success; in the meanwhile ex- 
tending his acquaintance and business connections into the neigh- 
boring counties. In this circuit he included Albemarle county, a 
region of Virginia especially distinguished for eminent and highly 
cultivated men. The aspiring barrister here found many friends, 
whose influence in the control of his future life was of the most 
fortunate aspect. 



CHAPTER V. 

1794 — 1799. 

ALBEMARLE FRIEVDS DR. GILMER.— MR. JEFFERSON, MR. MADISON AND MR. 

MONROE. —JAMES BARBOUR MARRIES MILDRED GILMER — PEN PARK — DR. 

GILMER'S LIBRARY.— HOSPITALITY OF THE COUNTRY — DANGERS TO 

WHICH HE WAS EXPOSED CHARACTER OF THE BAR.— HIS POPULARITY 

AND FREE HABITS.— FRANCIS WALKER GILMER.— THO.MAS W. GILMER, 

LATE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY DABNEY CARR AND HIS FAMILY — 

ANECDOTE OF BARBOUR AND WIRT —STATE OF FLU.— DE.^TH OF DR. 
GILMER.— ROSE HILL.— LETTER TO CARR. 

Amongst the friends whom Wirt found at this period, in Albe- 
marle, was Doctor George Gilmer. This gentleman, the descend- 
ant of a Scotch family which had emigrated at an early date to 
Virginia, had been prepared for his profession in Edinburg, and 
was at this time an eminent physician, in the enjoyment of a large 
practice. He lived at Pen Park, his family seat, in the neighbor- 
hood of Charlottesville. He had been noted as a zealous and 
effective friend of the Revolution — had borne arms in the cause ; 
was a man of genius, of accomplished education, wit and refine- 
ment. Living in the immediate neighborhood of Mr. Jefferson, 
and within a day's ride of Mr. Monroe and Mr, Madison, it was 
his singular good fortune to enjoy the intimate acquaintance and 
friendship of these distinguished men. 

His family circle furnished attractions both to old and young. 
His children drew around them many cheerful and happy com- 
panions, and his own accomplishments, as a man of letters and 
observation, brought him the best society of the time. An elegant 
hospitality prevailed in his household ; choice books were found 
in his library; instructive and agreeable conversation enlivened 
his fireside. Pen Park exhibited just such a combination of rare 
and pleasant appurtenances as are likely to make the best impres- 
sions upon the mind of an ingenuous and ambitious youth, and to 
inspire him with zeal in the cultivation of virtue and knowledge. 



64 HIS MARRIAGE. [1794—1799. 

Of the children who, at this date, graced the family board, 
there were two with whom these memoirs have an intimate con- 
nection. The first was Mildred, the eldest of the family; the 
other was Francis Walker, the youngest born of a numerous pro- 
geny. The daughter was richly gifted with the gentle attractions 
of her sex, intellectual, kind, cheerful, and noted for her good 
sense and just observation. She was then just growing into wo- 
manhood, with all the joys of that happy period radiant in her 
face. The imaginative and susceptible young barrister found a 
fairy land in this romantic spot, and a spell in the eye and tongue 
of the maiden which charmed too wisely to be broken. The 
father's regard for him opened the way to a closer alliance, and it 
was not long before he took his place in the family as a cherished 
son-in-law. 

The marriage was solemnized at Pen Park, on (he 28th of 
May, 1795. From this period Wirt's residence was established 
with the family of his wife. His practice and reputation in- 
creased. Amongst several lawyers, then and afterwards well 
known to fame in that region, he is said to have stood on the same 
platform with the best. Of these it would be sufficient to men- 
tion the names of Barbour Cabell, — now the President of the 
Court of Appeals of Virginia, — Carr, Davenport, Austin, Stuart 
and others, who will be recognised, by those who are familiar 
with the bar of Virginia, as gentlemen who enjoyed a well de- 
served repute for professional worth, and some of whom after- 
wards attained to an enviable celebrity throughout the Union. 

From this date we may observe the steady advancement of the 
fortunes of the subject of this narrative — shaded now and then, by 
a temporary cloud, — but nevertheless forced onward by the innate 
strength of his character and the impetus of brilliant talents and 
useful attainments. Doctor Gilmer became warmly attached to 
him ; brought him into intimate acquaintance with the illustrious 
persons to whom I have referred ; whetted his appetite for elegant 
literature, by the habitual display of his own stores gathered in 
the diligent study of it; gave fresh vigor to his taste and fancy, 
by directing his studies to the best books. The young student 
was charmed to find such happy access as the Doctor's library 
afforded, to those fountains of English thought and speech which 
poured their streams through the pages of Hooker, Eoyle, Locke, 



CHAP, v.] PEN PARK. 65 



Barrow, South, Bacon and Milton. From these he drank deep 
draughts, and filled his mind with that reverence for the old liter- 
ature of our native tongue, which was ever after noted as one of 
the most determinate characteristics of his mind. His acquaintance 
with Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison amd Mr. Monroe, at this date, 
before either of them had been elevated to that high honor which 
each subsequently attained, led, in due time, to confidential esteem 
and friendship, which was variously manifested throughout the 
lives of the parties. Such a fact as this may be interpreted to 
furnish the strongest evidence of the personal merit of the indi- 
vidual to whom it relates. 

Happy, — most auspicious, was it for him that he was thrown 
thus early under the guidance of so kind and competent a friend as 
the worthy proprietor of Pen Park. Fortune confers no richer 
boon upon generous and aspiring youth than when she gives him 
wise and affectionate friends. To win an honored place in the 
household and in the heart of a liberal, refined, benevolent and 
observant gentleman ; to be freshly engrafted upon a loving and 
pure minded family ; to feel the gentle and considerate kindness 
of parents seconding and sustaining the devotion of a wife ; to 
observe all around him the blossoms of a new affection, diffusing 
their fragrance into the atmosphere which he inhabits, and daily 
ripening into fruit for his enjoyment — there are few natures so 
stolid as not to draw from these environments good store of nutri- 
ment to improve the heart, exalt its charities, and quicken its im- 
pulses towards the cultivation of virtue, honor and religion. It is 
true that such blandishments are not exempt from the necessity of 
that vigilant self-control, which' every condition of fortune seems 
to exact from a well ordered mind. The vicious enticements of 
life openly challenge us to be upon our guard, and there is no 
great share of merit to be awarded to the youth who plainly per- 
ceiving the danger, arms himself in good time against it. But 
when prosperity enlivens all around us, and affection is con- 
tinually striving to make us happy by the offerings of kindness, the 
heart is sometimes taken unawares by its own jocund and over- 
flowing content, and may fall into the snares of that pleasure which 
the generosity of friendship itself administers. I do not wish to 
conceal the fact that at this time of the life of Mr. Wirt, he was 
not altogether free from the censure of having sometimes yielded 
VOL. 1 — 6* 



66 HOSPITALITY OF THE COUNTRY. [1794—1799. 



to the spells of the tempter and fallen into some occasional irreg- 
ularities of conduct, I am aware that this charge has been made 
in graver form, with some amplitude of detail and circumstance. 
It is partly to correct what is false in this, but much more from a 
consideration of what is due to truth and to the impartial presen- 
tation of the subject of my biography, that I now allude to it. I 
cannot be insensible, either, to the duty of exhibiting to the youth 
of the country a faithful picture of an eminent man, in whose 
career they may study the best lesson for their own guidance to a 
life of public usefulness and to the reward of an honorable fame. 
I should not be true to this aim if I kept out of view the occasions 
which should enable me to show how strictly the most virtuous 
natures should observe the tendency of every quick impulse, doubt 
its safety, and check its first extravagance. 

Wirt was now twenty-five years of age. He was companion- 
able, warm-hearted and trustful. His mind was quick, and imbued 
with a strong relish for wit and humor. An old friend, who knew 
iiim well in that day, says of him : " He had never met with any 
man so highly engaging and prepossessing. His figure Avas stri- 
kingly elegant and commanding, with a face of the first order of 
masculine beauty, animated, and expressing high intellect. His 
manners took the tone of his heart : they were frank, open and 
cordial, and his conversation, to which his reading and early pur- 
suits had given a classic tinge, was very polislied, gay and witty. 
Altogether," he adds, " he was a most fascinating companion, 
and to those of his own age, irresistibly and universally winning." * 

Such a character, we may suppose, to be but too susceptible to 
the influences of good fellowship, Avhich, in the jollity of youth- 
ful association, not unfrequently take the discretion of the votary 
by surprise and disarm its sentinels. The fasiiion of that time in- 
creased this peril. An unbounded hospitality amongst the gentle- 
men of the country, opened every door to the indulgence of con- 
vivial habits. The means of enjoyment were not more constantly 
present than the solicitations to use them. Every dinner party 
was a revel ; every ordinary visit was a temptation. The gentle- 
men of the bar, especially, indulged in a license of free living, 
which habitually approached the confines of excess, and often 

* Cruse's Memoir. 



CHAP, v.] CHARACTER OF THE BAR. €7 



overstepped them. The riding of the circuit, wliich always 
brought several into company, and the adventures of the wayside, 
gave to the bar a sportive and light-hearted tone of association, 
which greatly fostered the opportunity and the inclination for con- 
vivial pleasures. A day spent upon the road on horseback, the 
customary visits made to friends by the way, the jest and the 
song, the unchecked vivacity inspired by this grouping together 
of kindred spirits, — all had their share in imparting to the brother- 
hood that facility of temper and recklessness of the more severe 
and sober comment of the world, which, it will be acknowledged, 
is dangerous to youth in proportion to the enjoyment it affords. 
Then, the contests of the bar which followed in the forum, the 
occasions they afforded for the display of wit and eloquence and 
the congratulation of friends, were so many additional provoca- 
tives to that indulgence which found free scope when evening 
brought all together, under one roof, to rehearse tlieir pleasant ad- 
ventures, and to set flowing the currents of mirth and good humor, — ■ 
" to make a night of it," as the phrase is, kept merry by the 
stimulants of good cheer. The bar yet retains some of these char- 
acteristics ; but the present generation may but feebly conceive 
the pervading and careless joyousness with which, in that early 
time, the members of their mirthful craft, pursued their business 
through a country side. I mean no disparagement to the learned 
and gay profession, but, on the contrary, some commendation of 
the kindly spirit of its brotherhood, when I say, that in these inci- 
dents of its character and association, there was manifested some- 
thing of the light-heartedness and improvidence of the old-fash- 
ioned strolling theatrical companies. The present generation will 
bear witness to many an ancient green-room joke of the circuit, 
which yet floats abroad in Virginia, with a currency scarcely less 
notable than when it was first cast off. 

William Wirt was well known in these associations of Albe- 
marle and the surrounding counties, an admired object in the court 
house during the day, a leading spirit in the evening coterie; 
eloquent on the field of justice, sustaining his client's cause with a 
shrewd and sometimes brilliant skill; not less eloquent at the table 
or the mess-room, where his faculties were allowed to expatiate 
through another range, and where he gave reins to the wit and 
mirth which shook the roof-tree, ^ye may not wonder that, in 



68 FRANCIS WALKER GILMER. [1794-1799. 



the symposia of these days, the graver maxims of caution were 
forgotten, and that the enemy of human happiness, always lying at 
lurch to make prey of the young, should sometimes steal upon his 
guard and make his virtue prisoner. 

The too frequent recurrence of these misadventures in that day, 
have furnished food for much gross calumny in regard to him, and 
have led to the fabrication of coarse and disgusting charges of 
vulgar excess, which I am persuaded are utterly groundless. The 
friends of Mr. Wirt have seen with regret, that the most offensive 
of these inventions have sometimes been used, with many fanciful 
and absurd additions of circumstance, by indiscreet zealots in the 
cause of temperance, who have seemed to think it quite excusable 
to repeat and aggravate the most improbable of these falsehoods, 
for the sake of the profit wliich they suppose may accrue to the 
world from the use of a distinguished name to point the moral of 
their story. Whilst not seeking to extenuate the irregularities to 
whicb I have alluded, beyond what they may fairly claim from the 
circumstances in which they were indulged, and, indeed, recur- 
ing to them only with a profound regret, I could not allow the 
occasion now before me to pass by w^ithout this open and distinct 
denunciation of the libels I have seen, and of the terms of wanton 
and malicious exaggeration in which they have been repeated. 

Francis Walker Gilmer, the youngest son of the Doctor, will be 
often referred to in the course of this narrative. At the time of 
Wirfs marriage he was but a child. As he grew towards man- 
hood he developed a high order of talent, which led him to the 
study of the law and to the eager pursuit of letters. He was 
eminently qualified to excel in both. An early death, however, 
deprived the bar of the promised distinction which seemed to 
await the student; and the literature of the nation has been en- 
riched only to the amount of a few unstudied essays, which acquired 
a temporary distinction from the presage they atforded of what the 
author was capable of accomplishing. Some of my readers will 
probably remember a few rapid, striking and scholar-like delinea- 
tions of eminent public men, which, some twenty years ago, at- 
tracted a large share of attention at the seat of Government, under 
the title of "Sketches of American Orators." These sketches, 
collected into a small volume, I believe constitute nearly all that 



CHAP, v.] DABNEY CARR AND HIS FAMILY. 69 

Francis Walker Gilmer has left in the way of a contribution to the 
literary store of the country. 

Mr. Jetlerson's friendship for Dr. Gilmer was extended to the 
son, and Francis was educated almost entirely under the direction 
of the proprietor of Monticello, whose estimate of his talents and 
learning was frequently manifested both, in written correspondence 
and personal intercourse, by the most flattering expressions of 
confidence. He enjoyed, in scarcely inferior degree, the esteem 
of Mr. Jefrerson''s friend, the Abbe Correa, some time Minister 
from Portugal to this country, a man of distinguished erudition 
and always a most welcome and admired visiter at Monticello. 

I may mention in this place, that the family of Pen Park has 
been recently more conspicuously brought to the view of the 
public, by the interest attached to the career of Thomas Walker 
Gilmer, a grandson of the Doctor, not long since governor of Vir- 
ginia, and later still, Secretary of the Navy, which post he held 
for a few months under the disastrous administration of the first 
Vice-President who has ever been called to the Presidental chair 
of the Union, The bursting of the great gun, " the Peace-Maker," 
on board of the Princeton, in February, 1844, will long be remem- 
bered in Virginia for the sudden and melancholy end it brought 
to the Secretary, then in the prime of vigorous manhood and in the 
anticipation of a life of increasing honors. 

Wirt, as I have hinted, was not the most sedate of all who 
rode the circuits. In those old-fashioned progresses from court 
to court, when the gentlemen of the bar, booted and spurred, rode 
forth more like huntsmen than learned clerks, — or, like the Can- 
terbury pilgrims, partially united the character of both, — sedate- 
ness was no very popular virtue in the troop. Amongst those who 
constituted Wirt's associates on these occasions, Dabney Carr was 
the most intimate. James Barbour, also, was a companion and 
friend of both. These friendships, so early began, lost nothing of 
their kindness or sincerity, throughout the vicissitudes and separa- 
tion of after life. 

Dabney Carr, the father of the gentleman I have just named, 
was a man of high consideration in the state. He was a mem- 
ber of the Legislature in 1773, from Louisa, and most favorably 
known for his ability and zeal on the side of the colonies, in their 
resistance to the encroachments of the parent government. He 



70 DABNEY CARR. [1794—1799. 

was the intimate friend of Henry, Nicholas, Lee, Pendleton, Jef- 
ferson, — indeed of all who had become distinguished in Virginia 
in promoting the first movements of the revolution. 

With Mr. Jefferson he had a nearer connection, having married 
his sister. He died in May, 1773, almost immediately after the 
adjournment of that Legislature in which he had distinguished 
himself by the spirit and eloquence with which he urged the pro- 
j)Osition, then first introduced by himself, for a more effective and 
concentrated action of the colonies through the means of commit- 
tees — a proposition which, being adopted, seems to have stimu- 
lated the formation of the first Continental Congress.* He left 
behind him six children, of whom the three youngest were sons, 
Peter, Samuel and Dabney. 

Dabney, the youngest of these, was born but a month before 
the death of his father, and was, therefore, not more than half a 
year the junior of his friend and comrade. Wirt. These two 
young men, so near the same age, living in the same part of the 
country, practising at the same bar, possessing great similarity of 
temper and character, both animated by the same ambition, con- 
tracted an affectionate intimacy which never afterwards lost its 
warmth, and which, as the reader will hereafter perceive, was 
most pleasantly illustrated in the correspondence between them to 
the latest period of their lives. 

Peter Carr, the eldest of the three brothers, attracted the par- 
ticular notice and regard of his uncle, Mr. Jefferson, in whose 
published correspondence will be found many evidences of the con- 
cern he took in the education of his nephew. This gentleman had 
directed his attention to the bar, which at that date, much more 
even than at present, was regarded as the best avenue to distinc- 
tion. He, however, did not practise, but, preferring rural life and 
the pleasures of philosophical and literary study, betook him- 
self to a farm in Albemarle, where he lived greatly beloved by 
liis friends for his bland, affectionate and upright character, and 
admired by all who knew him as a polished and elegant scholar. 
Colonel Samuel Carr, the second of these sons, is still living, 
an opulent country gentleman, well known both in the political 

* See Mr. Jefferson's letter to Dabney Carr, April, 1816. Writings of Jefferson, 
vol. 4, p. 271. 



CHAP, v.] ANECDOTE, A PROPHECY. 71 

and social circles of Virginia, as one of her most valued citizens. 
He resided, during a great portion of his life, upon a landed estate 
in Albemarle, called Dunlora, and represented his district in the 
State Senate, where he acquired an extensive and well deserved 
intluence. 

It was in the circle of which these gentlemen were amongst the 
most prominent members, that Wirt found the cherished compan- 
ions of his early forensic life. 

An incident, connected with this period, is worth relating. 

James Barbour, Dabney Carr and Wirt, were on their custo- 
mary journey to Fluvanna, the adjoining county to Albemarle, to 
attend the court there, " the State of Flu," as that county was 
called in their jocular terms. They had been amusing each other 
with the usual prankishness which characterised their intercourse. 
Wirt was noted for making clever speeches, as they rode to- 
gether. In these, he was wont to imagine some condition of cir- 
cumstances adapted to his displays. Sometimes he rode ahead of 
his companions, and, waiting for them by the road side, welcomed 
them, in an oration of mock gravity, to the confines of " the State 
of Flu," representing himself to be one of its dignitaries, sent 
there to receive the distinguished persons into whom he had trans- 
formed the young attorneys of the circuit. These exhibitions, and 
others of the same kind, are said to have been of the most comic 
spirit, and to have atforded many a laugh to the actors. At the 
time of the incident I am about to relate, the three whom I have 
mentioned, arrived at Carr's Brook, in Albemarle, the residence of 
Peter Carr, where they dined and passed the night. During this 
visit, whilst indulging their customary merriment, Barbour enter- 
tained them with a discourse upon the merits of himself and his 
companions, in the course of which he undertook to point out 
their respective destinations in after life. " You, Dabney," said 
he, " have indulged a vision of judicial eminence. You shall be 
gratified, and shall hold a seat on the Bench of the Court of Ap- 
peals of Virginia. Your fortune, William," he continued, address- 
ing himself to Wirt, " shall conduct you to the Attorney General- 
ship of the United States, where you shall have harder work to 
do than making bombastic speeches in the woods of Albemarle. 



72 LETTER TO CARR. [1794-1799. 



As for myself, I shall be content to take my seat in the Senate of 
the United States." 

This little passage in the lives of the three gay companions, 
has only become notable from the singular fulfilment of the jocular 
prophecy in respect to each of the parties. 

Within a year or two after the marriage of his daughter, Doctor 
Gilmer died. In the division of his estate, which became ne- 
cessary upon this event, a portion of it, known as Rose Hill, was 
allotted to the young wife and her husband, and here Wirt built a 
house, which thenceforth, nominally, became his residence. Rose 
Hill was in the vicinity of Pen Park, and as its new proprietors 
had no children, they spent so much of their time in the family 
mansion, as scarcely to allow us to say they had clianged their 
dwelling place. Amongst the several letters of Wirt, which have 
been preserved, belonging to this period, I find them all dated at 
Pen Park, affording evidence of the fact that the writer had 
not ceased to regard himself as an inhabitant of the domicil. I 
am tempted here to give one of these letters written, in the spring 
of 1799, to his friend Carr, which, dealing with a matter of no 
more importance than an invitation to dinner, may, nevertheless, 
interest the reader by the picture it affords of the light-hearted- 
ness of its author. 

'' I cannot go over to see you to-day, my good friend. And I 
have almost as many, and as solid reasons for my conduct, as 
Doctor Ross had for not wearing stockings with boots. The first 
of his was, that he had no stockings, and his catechiser was sat- 
isfied. Let us see whether you will be as candid. 

" Firstly. — We have a troop of visiting cousins here, who have 
come from afar, and whom we cannot, you know, decently invite 
to leave our house. 

" Secondly. — We have, perhaps, finer lamb and lettuce to-day, 
for dinner, than ever graced the table of Epicurus, not meaning 
to imply any thing to the dishonor of Donlora or Dun\ora, — or 
something, I forget what. 

"Thirdly. — Mr. Ormsby is here, who brings an historical, topo- 
graphical, critical, chronological and fantastical account of Ken- 
tucky and its inhabitants. 

" Fourthly. — To conclude, we have determined that, immediately 
upon the receipt of this, you are to start for this place; for, you 



CHAP, v.] LETTER TO CARR. 73 



observe, that the same reasons which justify my staying at home, 
prove the propriety, and, I hope you will think, necessity of your 
coming hither." * 

* I have to acknowledge my indebtedness, for much of what I have been able to 
collect relating to the family of Doctor Gilmer, and Mr. Wirt's connection with it, 
to the kind assistance of the Hon. Wm. C. Rives, of Castle Hill, in Albemarle, and 
of his friend and neighbor, Mr. Franklin Minor, a grandson of Doctor Gilmer. I 
may take this occasion also to express my obligations to Mr. David Holmes Conrad, 
of Berkeley, for some interesting particulars relating to Judge Carr, and to Messrs. 
John R. Thompson, of Richmond, the accomplished editor of the Southern Mes- 
senger, and John M. Muschett, of Charles county, Maryland, for very acceptable 
contributions respecting the early life and professional history of Mr. Wirt. To 
numerous other friends I owe the same acknowledgment for many favors received 
in the course of my occupation upon these memoirs, and must content myself with 
this general proffer of my thanks, for services which have not been less useful to 
me than they have been indicative of the highest appreciation of the worth of the 
subject of my labors. 



VOL. 1 — 7 



CHAPTER VI. 

1799 — 1802. 

HAPPY LIFE AT PEN PARK MISFORTUNE.— DRATH OF HIS WIFE.— RE- 
LIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS.— DETERMINES TO REMOVE TO RICHMOND.— ELECTED 
CLERK TO THE HOUSE OF DELEG.\TES.— NEW ACQUAINTANCES.— PATRICK 
HENRY.— RESOLUTIONS OF NINETY-EIGHT.- RE-ELECTED CLERK AT TWO 

SUCCEEDING SESSIONS TEMPTATIONS TO FREE LIVING — TRIAL OF CAL- 

LRNDER FOR A LIBEL UNDER THE SEDITION LAW WIRT, HAY AND NICHO- 
LAS DEFEND HIM COURSE OF THE TRIAL A SINGULAR INCIDENT — JUDGE 

CHASE.— NULLIFICATION FOURTH OF JULY ORATION — EMBARRASSED 

ELOCUTION. 

The term of his residence in Albemarle may be reckoned as 
marking the golden days of William Wirt's youth. He came to 
this legion poor, and we may say, without friends — at least, without 
such friends as open to us the road to fortune. He was inexpe- 
rienced in the business of life, provided with no great store of 
useful knowledge, not yet sufficiently acquainted with the strength 
or value of his faculties to give him assurance of his titness for the 
contests through which alone the career he had chosen might be- 
come prosperous. We may imagine him also, neither over-con- 
tident in his discretion nor sanguine in his dependance upon the 
guidance of his judgment. Yet here it was his happiness to wit- 
ness the quick growth of esteem and consideration : to become 
conscious, day by day, of the unfolding of those talents which 
were adequate to the winning of a good renown. Here he' found 
himself growing, with rapid advance, in the affections of a circle 
of friends, whose attachment was then felt as a cheerful light upon 
his path, and which promised a not less benign radiance over his 
future days. But above all other gratifications, here it was that he 
became an inmate of that delightful home which love had fur- 
nished, and which wise counsel and instruction made as precious 
to the mind, as its other allurements had made it to the heart. 

We err if we believe that a life of unmixed content is the most 
auspicious to the fortunes of a young aspirant for fame. It need 
not be told to those wiio have been most active in the emulous 



CHAP VI. MISFORTUNE. 75 

trials by wliich consideration is won in the world, that the highest 
order of talent stands in need of the spur of occasional disap- 
pointment to stimulate its vigor, nor that a career of uninterrupted 
enjoyment is apt to dull the lustre of the brightest parts, and ex- 
tinguish the ambition of the most generous and capable natures. 
Adversity is not unfrequently the most healthful ingredient in the 
cup of human experience, and the best tonic to brace the mind for 
those encounters in which virtue is proved and renown achieved. 

Wirt was brought to the test of this trutb more than once during 
that period of happy sojourn amongst the delights of Pen Park. 
AVe have already noticed the death of Doctor Gilmer, his in- 
structor, guide and friend. In the fifth year of his marriage a 
more severe calamity fell upon him, in the loss of his wife. This 
event came with an overwhelming anguish, to teach him, if not the 
first, certainly the most painful lesson of his life, upon the uncer- 
tainty of human happiness and the duty of establishing our hopes 
upon surer foundations than the treasures of earth. 

There is observable in the early letters of Mr. Wirt, some occa- 
sional indications of that sentiment of reverence for religious sub- 
jects, which, towards the close of his life, had expanded into the 
prominent characteristic of his mind. No occasion of hilarity, 
no companionship of wild and careless spirits, no youthful indis- 
cretion seems ever to have betrayed him into the profanation of 
subjects esteemed sacred, or to the practice of the scoffs and jests 
which are too currently indulged in the festivities of thoughtless 
youth, or of unthinking age. 

The death of his wife naturally strengthened this sentiment and 
furnished occasion for the improvement of his heart, in the enter- 
tainment of more earnest pursuit and study of religious topics. I 
do not mean to affirm that this event led him to any external pro- 
fession of religious duty; or that it, in any very perceptible degree, 
altered his demeanor in the presence of the world ; but it had its 
influence in impressing more deeply upon his character that pro- 
found sense of the sacredness of spiritual truth, and the solace of 
christian faith, which every healthful, reflective mind finds in the 
meditations which are prompted by the death of those we love. 

The time had now come when he was once more to be thrown 
upon the world. His marriage had been without children. There 
was no tie but that of friendship and the remembrance of an over- 



76 REMOVES TO RICHMOND. [1799—1802. 

thrown afTection, to hold him to this spot. He was young. The 
world was still before him ; not less promising in its offer of the 
prize of ambition than it had been. Friends beckoned him to the 
labors of a fresh contest. An aching memory drove him from the 
scenes that surrounded him. The mind torn by grief yields readily 
to the solicitations of adventure, and finds a double stimulus to ac- 
tion, in the desire to escape from present suffering, and the hope to 
surround itself with ne^v objects of affection. 

He determined to establish his residence in Richmond. Before 
he abandoned Pen Park, he placed a tablet over the grave of her 
who had first brought him to this spot. The inscription upon it 
tells, in brief, nearly the whole history of this portion of his life — 
for it speaks of the two events most indelibly impressed upon his 
heart, and the sentiment that filled up the interval between the two 
dates to which they refer : 

"HERE LIES MILDRED, 

Daughter of George and Lucy Gilmer, Wife of William Wirt. 

She was born August 15th, 1772, married May 28th, 1795, and died Sept. 17th, 1799. 

Come round her tomb each object of desire. 
Each purer frame inflamed with purer fire. 
Be all that's good, that cheers and softens life. 
The tender sister, daughter, friend and wife. 
And when your virtues you have counted o'er. 
Then view this marble and be vain no more."* 

Thus closed a short episode in his life, which comprehended 
some five years of early manhood, illustrated by his first access to 
that circle of friends who became the solace of his after days, and 
by the experience of the purest of all delights, the associations of 
the domestic hearth, its affections and its virtues. 

The bitterness of that misfortune which broke in upon this 
period of content, for a time suspended his practice, and drove 
him to other scenes and occupations. He went to Richmond, 
where the Legislatuie was in session. His friends in that body 

* I am almost afraid to claim these verses as original. But I believe they were 
WT-itten by Mr. Wirt. If my reader, more conversant than I am with the stores of 
this kind of literature, should be able to trace them to another author, he will excuse 
my error. They resemble in style and stiucture some few poetical effusions of Mr. 
W. which have come to my hands. 



CHAP. VI.] CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF DELEGATES. 77 

persuaded him to become a candidate for the post of clerk of the 
House of Delegates. The emoluments of this office were suffi- 
cient for his comfortable support; and the duties belonging to it 
were not so engrossing but that he might pursue his profession 
whilst he held it. The office itself was one of suthcient considera- 
tion to be regarded by a young man, to whom all public station 
was new, as an advancement in the career of life. It had been 
occupied in past time, by Chancellor Wythe, by Edmund Ran- 
dolph and others of name and fame in the State. Wirt was 
elected, and forthwith entered upon its duties. 

This appointment was so far serviceable to him that it brought 
him into acquaintance with some of the most distinguished men of 
the day. Mr, Madison, whom he had previously known, Mr. 
Giles, Mr. Taylor of Caroline, and Mr. Nicholas, were members 
of the Legislature at this session. Patrick Henry had also been 
elected to a seat in the House of Delegates, but his death, which 
took place a few months alter his election, deprived Wirt of the 
opportunity to make a personal acquaintance with, or even to see, 
the great orator whose fame it became his province afterwards to 
commemorate. 

Mr. Henry's participation in this Assembly had been looked 
to with a most profound interest throughout the State. The cele- 
brated Resolutions of Ninety-eight had passed at the previous 
session. Henry's hostility to these resolutions had awakened his 
characteristic zeal in the cause of the country, and had brought 
him out from his retirement, once more to seek active duty in the 
tield of his old renown. This was at a time when his constitution, 
greatly shaken and enfeebled by disease, had left him physically 
but the wreck of what he had been, though in mental power, we 
may infer, from what is told of the eagerness with which he threw 
himself into this contest with the distinguished men who sustained 
the resolutions, his infirmities had not yet lessened his confidence, 
nor quenched the ardor of his matchless eloquence. He had sided 
with the Federal Government on the questions which gave rise to 
those resolutions; and had expressed himself to the electors in his 
county, during his canvass, in terms of deep and unalterable hos- 
tility against the position which Virginia had assumed at this 
crisis. In his addresses, on this occasion, to the people, all his 
ancient fire seems to have rekindled, and there was every indica- 
VOL. 1—7* 



78 PATRICK HENRY. [1799—1802. 

lion given that, in the approaching session of the Legislature to 
which he was elected, his monitory voice would be heard in 
rebuke of the proceeding of the previous Assembly, as clear and 
as stirring in its notes, as of old it had been heard, above the din 
and tumult of the Revolution. The side he had taken on this ques- 
tion was remarkably unpopular. It was in opposition to the 
opinions of the great majority of the people of Virginia, and to 
that of the most venerated and powerful political leaders. His 
hostility had raised Mr. Madison and his compeers, to whom I 
have already referred, to the defence of the resolutions, and it was 
every where hinted that the coming session was to be one of ex- 
traordinary interest. So strong was the feeling against Mr. Henry 
for his course in this juncture, that his oldest and best friends were 
alienated from him. Some excused what was called his aberra- 
tions, on the ground of his age and infirmities; others, less charita- 
ble, imputed them to worse motives: — all looked to him, however, 
friend and enemy, with intense interest, to note his conduct, hear 
his argument, and weigh his opinions; all conscious that in this, 
probably the last scene in his public life, a great effort would be 
made to sustain his fame. Death came to his rescue, to save him 
from a contest in which, whatever might be the weight of his 
wisdom, the glory of his eloquence, or the integrity of his heart; 
however brilliant the exhibition of all these, they would have 
proved unavailing either to conciliate the friendship of estranged 
compatriots, or to overcome the hostility of the excited numbers 
who had already prejudged and condemned him. His triumph 
might, in no event, be won for the day in which he lived. Time 
only could be regarded as the true arbiter of his wisdom. Doubt- 
less, when he resolved upon that contest, he sought no guerdon of 
applause from the present; he looked only to the future. The 
sage who has filled the measure of his days, and who, standing 
upon the margin of the grave, has no longer a motive to temporize 
with human passion or succumb to personal interests, scruples not 
to defy the world"'s opinion and to utter unwelcome truth to the 
generation around him, — has even a positive pleasure in this duty. 
He appeals to posterity for judgment, and is content to bide its 
coming. Old age contemplating its access to the world of eternity, 
instinctively inclines to reckon itself as associated with the future, 



CHAP. VT.] RESOLUTIONS OF NINETY-EIGHT. 79 

and therefore more delights to speak to a coming generation than 
to that which it is about to leave. 

How far Mr. Henry's opinions, in regard to the famous " Reso- 
lutions of Ninety-eight," have been justified by what has been de- 
veloped since, is a speculation which may amuse those who take 
pleasure in exploring the tendency of the mind to exaggerate the 
importance of political events in the time of their bringing forth, 
and to remark how often and how significantly Time satirizes man's 
wisdom, by turning the current of his fancied great exploits into 
channels which lead to nothing, losing their stream in the sand. 
These resolutions, so noted, have already served out their time, 
and have been cast into the great receptacle of abstractions, as 
things of no useful import. Professing to be expositions of the 
constitution, they already require expounders themselves; and, 
apparently, being scarce deemed worthy of the study of a com- 
mentator, they have been abandoned to their fate. They are now 
seen only as a buoy, floating where there is no shoal, and warning 
the navigator of dangers to which he has learned to trust his keel, 
without precaution or alarm. 

So great, however, was the excitement against Mr. Henry, at 
the time to which I have referred, that, upon the announcement of 
his death to the Legislature, and the suggestion of a monument to 
commemorate the gratitude of Virginia in behalf of the great 
patriot and orator, party zeal so far triumphed over the honorable 
pride of the representatives of the State, as to dismiss the propo- 
sition. And, from the silence of the journals of subsequent legis- 
latures upon this proposal, the dismissal seems to have been final. 

Wirt served, in his new office, with credit and full public ap- 
probation, through the session, and was re-elected to the same post 
in the two succeeding years. If the society which Richmond 
afforded him, during his term of public duty, seemed to extend 
his acquaintance and good repute with those whose esteem is 
amongst the most precious things of life to a young man, it also 
brought him into some of those perils to which he was, from his 
character, peculiarly exposed. The Legislature was a concourse 
of gay and ungoverned youth, as well as of wise and sober age. 
The city in which the Legislature sat was somewhat noted, of 
old, for its choice spirits, its men of Avit and pleasure, and its 
manifold inducements to tax the discretion of those who had no 



80 TRIAL OF CALLENDER. [1799— 1S02. 

great store of that commodity to meet the requisition. The 
young clerk of the House was a great favorite with all. Every 
door was opened to him ; every gay circle welcomed his com- 
ing, and the favor and admiration of friends were overpaid, by 
draughts on an exchequer which sufl'ered more from what it re- 
ceived, than from what it disbursed, — a witty and playful spirit, 
which could not be exhausted in its outpourings, but which, too 
often, lost its guidance in the cloud of homage it brought around 
itself. 

This portion of his life, Mr. Wirt, in his own review of it, was 
accustomed to consider as one of great temptation. Indeed, in 
the midst of its enjoyments, he was often led to reflect upon the 
necessity of a more severe devotion to his better aims, as he con- 
ceived them to be, in the steady pursuit of his profession. 

He held the post of clerk of the House of Delegates, during 
three sessions of the Legislature. In the first year of this term 
of service, he was brought somewhat conspicuously to the public 
observation as the counsel of Callender. This person, who seems 
to have made a trade of libelling, who had been equally, at differ- 
ent periods, the calumniator of Washington, of Adams and of Jef- 
ferson, was indicted in the spring of 1800, at the instance of 
Samuel Chase, then the presiding Judge of the Federal Govern- 
ment over the Circuit which comprehends Richmond, for the pub- 
lication of a pamphlet which had gained an extensive notoriety, 
at that period, for a scandalous assault upon the existing adminis- 
tration. This pamphlet was entitled " The Prospect before us," 
and is yet remembered by many, as one of the most pungent and 
acrimonious tracts connected with the political excitements of 
that day. The indictment of Callender was one of the first prose- 
cutions under the sedition law. The enactment of that law had, in 
part, supplied the topic to the Virginia Resolutions, which, as we 
have seen, were yet, a prominent subject of public discussion. 
The impolicy of this law, and the eager denunciation of it by a 
powerful and, indeed, now predominant party in the Union, gave 
to the prosecution of Callender a factitious importance, very much 
above what either the book or its author might have challenged 
on the score of their own significance. 

The counsel for Callender were George Hay and Philip Nor- 
borne Nicholas, both young men holding a most respectable posi- 



CHAP. VI.] 



COURSE OF THE TRIAL. 81 



tion at the Richmond bar. AVirt was associated with them in the 
cause, and was the youngest lawyer of the three. The case 
seems to have been a clear one, and Callender was convicted. In 
the impeachment of Judge Chase, some five years later, before the' 
Senate of the United States, it was charged against him, in refer- 
ence to this trial, that his conduct during the whole course of it 
was marked " by manifest injustice, partiality and intemperance." 
Amongst the specifications to sustain this charge were the fol- 
lowing: 

" In the use of unusual, rude and contemptuous expressions 
towards the prisoner's counsel, and in insinuating that they wished 
to excite the public fears and indignation, and to produce that in- 
subordination to law to which the conduct of the judge did, at the 
same time, manifestly tend. 

" In repeated and vexatious interruptions of the said counsel, 
on the part of the said judge, which at length induced them to 
abandon their cause and their client, who was thereupon convicted 
and condemned to fine and imprisonment.". 

Judge Chase was known to be of a peremptory and absolute 
temper ; and the testimony upon his impeachment shows, what, at 
least, may be said to be, a severe and perhaps discourteous bear- 
ins towards the counsel in this case. But as an answer to the 
charge of manifest injustice, partiality and intemperance in his de- 
meanor, the unanimous vote of acquittal — the only unanimous vote 
of the Senate in the case, — is conclusive. 

We may infer, therefore, that the abandonment of the defence 
of Callender by his counsel, was one of those theatrical inci- 
dents — cowps de theatre — which ingenious advocates are sometimes 
known to contrive, as more efficacious in the way of defence, 
than the attempt to breast an array of inevitable and discomfiting 
facts. Such a device seems well suited to a state trial, in which 
auditors and jury are supposed to have all their sympathies and 
good wishes with the prisoner. It was a political affair, in public 
estimation, and the retirement of counsel, under the pretext of be- 
ing driven off by the hectoring temper of the judge politically 
hostile to the prisoner, was likely to be regarded not as a confes- 
sion of the guilt of their client, but as an appeal to the jury, and 
an invocation to them to take him into their protection. The 
facts, however, were too clear against Callender, and the adroit 



82 COURSE OF THE TRIAL. [1799—1802. 

counsel were disappointed in the efficacy of the movement, if it 
were dictated by the considerations I have suggested. 

We must, however, confess that tlie dogmatism of the judge, 
not to say the positive harshness of his treatment of the counsel, 
may have been the true and only motive for their retirement; 
although the point might be strongly argued against the right of 
an advocate, in a cause \vhich he conscientiously believes to be 
good, to desert his client and leave him to his fate, under any 
amount of provocation or insult from a judge, which did not 
actually disable him from performing his duty. 

Mr. Hay and Mr. Nicholas were both examined as witnesses 
on the impeachment. From their testimony it appears that the 
chief, if not the only defence of Callender, was upon the consti- 
tutionality of the sedition la\v, which point, it would seem, they 
were desirous should be submitted to the jury. The judge was 
known to be unalterable in his view of the constitutional question ; 
and there being no hope from him, the counsel insisted upon the 
power and the right of the jury to nullify the act of Congress ; — a 
heresy, we may call it, which has been revived in a later day, 
and which has fared no better with the American people than it 
did upon its first production, with Judge Chase. This doctrine, 
the first and almost the only fruit of the Resolutions of Ninety- 
eight, has been, from first to last, a Dead Sea apple which has 
crumbled into dust whenever it has been lifted to the lips. 

Our young advocate figures in this scene. I extract what re- 
lates to him from Mr. Hay's testimony before the Senate. 

" It was the intention of the counsel of Callender," says that 
gentleman, upon his examination, " to defend him on the ground of 
tiie unconstitutionality of the sedition law. The gentlemen who 
were associated with me preceded me in the argument, but were 
not permitted to address the jury on the point I mentioned. The 
treatment experienced by Mr. Wirt, I have, in some degree, re- 
lated. He was interrupted two or three times by the judge, for the 
purpose of telling him that the doctrine for which he was con- 
tending, — that the jury had the right of determining the law as well 
as the fact, — was true. Mr. Wirt then stated ' that the constitution 
w^as the supreme law of the land.' Judge Chase told liim ' there 
was no necessity for proving that.' Mr. Wirt then went on to argue 
' that if the constitution was tlie supreme law, and if the jury had a 



CHAP. VI.] COURSE OF THE TRIAL. 83 



right to determine both tlie law and fact of the case, the conclusion 
was perfectly syllogistic, that the jury had a right to determine 
upon the constitutionality of the law.' " 

Upon this, the same testimony states, Judge Chase replied, 
" That's a non sequUur, sir." 

" At the same time," says Mr, Hay, "he bowed with an air of 
derision. Whether Mr. Wirt,"— he continues, "said any thing 
after this, 1 do not recollect." Mr. Hay then detailed his own 
course in the argument: his urging upon the judge that this was a 
question for the jury — " I stated to the court, in terms as distinct 
as I could, the specific purpose for whicli I meant to contend. I 
think it was that the jury had a right to determine every question 
which was to determine the guilt or innocence of the traverser. 
The judge asked me whether I laid down this doctrine in civil as 
well as criminal cases, ' because,' said he, ' if you do you are 
wrong.' I replied that I considered it universally true, but that it 
was sufficient for my purpose if it applied to criminal cases only. 
I went on as well as I was able with the argument, when I was 
again interrupted by the judge. What the circumstances were, or 
the words used, I do not recollect. I believe that I was inter- 
rupted more than twice. My impressions then being that I should 
be obliged to tmdergo more humiliation than I coyiceived necessary^ I 
retired from the bar. When Judge Chase found I was about re- 
tiring, he told me to go on. I told him that ' I would not.' He 
said ' there was no necessity for my being captious.' I replied 
that ' I was not captious, and that I would not proceed ;' and im- 
mediately retired from the bar, and, I believe, from the room in 
which the court was held." 

Mr. Nicholas says, after Mr. Wirt sat down, " I followed him, 
and^was not interrupted by the judge. Mr, Hay followed me, and 
observed that the jury had a right to decide the law. Mr. Chase 
asked him whether he meant in civil as well as in criminal cases, 
because if he did he was wrong. Mr. Hay replied that he con- 
ceived the proposition to be universally true — but that it was suf- 
ficient for his purpose if it applied to criminal cases. He then 
proceeded a little further and was again interrupted by the judge. 
Mr. Hay then stopped, folded up his papers and left the court; 
and ice left it at the same lime. What happened afterwards I know 
not." 



84 SINGULAR INCIDENT. [1799—1802. 

So, the three young lawyers trooped out of court, with their 
papers bundled up. Hay led the van, and young Wirt, with his 
laughing eye and sly waggish face, casting queer glances, no doubt, 
right and left amongst the bar inside of the railing and the spec- 
tators outside, brought up the rear. 

This was a scene under the Resolutions of Ninety-eight. Cal- 
lender, we must suppose quailed now, on being deserted by his 
champions, before the awful majesty of Chase's brow. The jury, 
we may imagine too, were affected to indignation and anger, and 
the crowd moved to pity at Callender's forlorn and friendless 
state. The bar, perhaps, indulged a little secret comment, — whis- 
pered in their sleeves, some laughing hints of miscarriage; — and 
the three retired counsel, after wearing the face of indignant pa- 
triotism for a limited time, when they got together at one or the 
others' office, we must believe, had some rather jocular misgivings 
whether Callender would fare the better for this first effort at 
nullification-, or congratulated themselves at getting out of a case 
tliat was pretty sure to go awry. 

When Judge Chase came to deliver the opinion of the court, 
his language, in reference to the question which seems to have 
raised the indignation of the counsel, was as follows : 

" I will assign my reasons why I will not permit the counsel for 
the traverser to ofl'er arguments to the jury, to urge them to do 
what the constitution and law of this country wnll not permit, and 
which if I should allow, 1 should, in my judgment, violate my duty, 
disregard the constitution and law, and surrender up the judicial 
power of the United States. 

# # # # # * 

" The statute on which the traverser is indicted, enacts that ' the 
jury who shall try the cause shall have a right to determine the 
law and the fact, under the direction of the court as in other 
cases.' By this provision I understand that a right is given to the 
jury to determine what the laio is in the case before them, and not 
to decide whether a statute of the United States produced to them 
is a laio or not, or whether it is void under an opinion that it is 
unconstitutional — that is, contrary to the constitution of the Uni- 
ted States. 



CHAP. VI.] FOURTH OF JULY ORATION. 85 

"I cannot conceive that a right is given to the petit jury to de- 
termine whether the statute, under which they claim this riglit, is 
constitutional or not. To determine the validity of the statute, 
the Constitution of the United States must necessarily be resorted 
to and considered, and its provisions inquired into. It must be de- 
termined whether the statute alleged to be void, because contrary 
to the Constitution, is prohibited by it expressly or by necessary im- 
plication. Was it ever intended by the framers of the Constitution, 
or by the people of America, that it should ever be submitted to 
the examination of a jury to decide what restrictions are expressly 
or impliedly imposed by it on the National Legislature ? I cannot 
possibly believe that Congress intended by the statute to grant a 
right to a petit jury to declare a statute void. The man who main- 
tains this position must have a most contemptible opinion of the 
understanding of that body. But I believe the defect lies with 
himself" 

This is a short extract from an opinion at some length, in which 
the question is most ably argued. Whether the concluding re- 
mark of the paragraph above quoted, was designed as a reflection 
personal to the counsel in the case, or not, it certainly may be re- 
garded as discourteous, and indicative, perhaps, of some degree 
of temper, which we may believe to have been roused by the col- 
lision which the trial produced. If there was any purpose of 
reflection upon the counsel in it, we have reason to infer that 
it was not specially provoked by the deportment of Wirt, to- 
wards whom the judge seems to have retained the kindest feel- 
ings. Speaking of the incidents of his trial on the impeachment, 
soon after it was concluded, to a friend of the young counsellor, 
after whom he had inquired with an affectionate interest, he re- 
marked : " They did not summon him on my trial. Had I known 
it, I might have summoned him myself Yet it was only to that 
young man I said any thing exceptionable, or which I have 
thought of with regret since." 

The trial of Callender took place in May, 1800. On the fourth 
of July following, Wirt, delivered an anniversary oration, for which 
purpose he had been selected by the democratic party in Rich- 
mond. It is characterised by the author of the memoir to whom 
I am indebted for so many particulars contained in this narrative, 
as "fervid and rapid," "unpremeditated" in its manner, and is 
VOL. 1—8 



86 EMBARRASSED ELOCUTION. [1799—1802. 

said to have been pronounced " so little like other prepared ora- 
tions as to have been thought extemporary." 

In the early period of his professional life, as we have already 
remarked, his elocution was far from being easy and unembar- 
rassed. It was of that character which would be most likely to 
impart the idea that even a prepared oration, such as this to which 
the memoir alludes, was the extemporaneous production of the 
occasion. The hesitation at one moment, the too rapid flow of 
utterance at another, and frequent stammering, might leave such 
an impression on the hearer. Mr. Wirt, in speaking of his diffi- 
culties in this particular, once said to a friend: " My pronunciation 
and gesture at this time were terribly vehement. I used, some- 
times, to find myself literally stopped, by too great rapidity of 
utterance. And if any poor mortal was ever forced to struggle 
against a difficulty, it was I, in that matter. But my stammering 
became at last a martyr to perseverance, and, except when I get 
some of my youthful fires lighted, I can manage to be pretty in- 
telligible now." 

This was his recollection, after the lapse of many years, and 
was always pleasantly dwelt upon by him as coupled with the 
reflection how completely he had vanquished these difficulties of 
enunciation, by careful attention and judicious practice. 



CHAPTER VII. 

1802—1803. 

ELECTED TO THE POST OF CHANCELLOR.— VALUE OF THIS APPOINTMENT 

REASONS FOR ACCEPTING IT.— COL. ROBERT GAMBLE.— COURTSHIP A 

THEATRICAL INCIDENT — SECOND MARRIAGE REMOVES TO WILLIAMS- 
BURG LETTERS TO CARR — RESIGNS THE CHANCELLORSHIP AND DETER- 
MINES TO GO TO NORFOLK. 

In the session of the Legislature which terminated in the winter 
of 1802, the last of the three sessions in which Wirt was the 
clerk of the House of Delegates, an act was passed for dividing 
the Chancery jurisdiction of the State into three districts. Here- 
tofore the whole of this jurisdiction had been vested in a single 
Chancellor, and the venerable George Wythe had, for a long 
period, discharged its duties, with a fidelity and learned skill 
which have placed him in the rank of the most eminent jurists of 
the country. The increasing business of the court, howev^er, had 
now rendered it indispensable that the labor should be distributed, 
and the Legislature had therefore passed the act to which I have 
referred. 

The clerk of the House was agreeably surprised, before the 
close of this session, to find that the Legislature had selected him 
for one of these new appointments. He was altogether ignorant 
of their purpose to confer this honor upon him, until the moment 
when he was requested to withdraw from the House of Delegates, 
in order that his nomination might be made and the election pro- 
ceeded with. He was elected by a unanimous vote. An honor 
of such magnitude, conferred under such circumstances, speaks 
very intelligibly as to the estimation in which the subject of it was 
held. He was at this time twenty-nine years of age. He had the 
professional experience of his country practice in Albemarle, and 
that of some two years in the more extended theatre of the Rich- 
mond courts ; but he was still what might be considered a junior at 
the bar, and scarcely in a position to attract the public attention 
for a post so grave and responsible in its duties, as a Chancellor, 



88 MADE CHANCELLOR. [1802-1803. 

unless we suppose him to have given decided and satisfactory 
manifestations of a capability to attain high eminence in his profes- 
sion. It had not entered into his imaginings to expect such a 
mark of favor from the Legislature. The same diffidence in him- 
self which forbade him to solicit such a distinction, now wrought 
in him some perturbation of spirit in the accepting of it. It is not 
always the quality of true genius to distrust itself, for there are 
instances of men of the brightest parts protruding themselves 
upon the public, with that eager self-commendation which we are 
accustomed to call vanity, in weaker minds; — but this attribute 
of diffidence is so generally tiie accompaniment of youthful merit, 
that we scarcely err when we reckon upon it as one of the signs 
by which we may prophesy future success. So full of apprehen- 
sion, was the newly designated Chancellor on this occasion, of his 
ability to acquit himself in this high function with credit and use- 
fulness, that, — it is told of him, — he called upon the Governor, 
Mr. Monroe, then, and always afterwards, his friend, and who 
most probably had sometliing to do with the nomination, to com- 
municate his doubts and fears as to his suitableness either in age 
or acquirement for the post. " Mr. Monroe," says my authority, 
" replied, that the Legislature, he doubted not, knew very well 
what it was doing, and that it was not probable he would disap- 
point either it, or the suitors of the court."* 

The district assigned to him in this appointment, comprehended 
the Eastern Shore of Virginia and the tide-water counties below 
Richmond. The duties of the station required that he should re- 
side in Williamsburg, a point rich in associations with the history 
of the State, and where was to be found a cultivated and refined 
society, in every respect most likely to prove agreeable to the 
tastes of the new functionary. 

In adverting to this appointment and its consequences, in the fol- 
lowing letter to his friend Carr, written after he had reached Wil- 
liamsburg, he reveals the considerations which influenced him, 
in terms which show how justly and how deeply he was impressed 
with the necessity of a more sedate pursuit of those better aims 
in life to which I have, more than once referred. It will be re- 
marked, in the reading of the first paragraph of this letter, that 

* Cruse's Memoir. 



CHAP. VII.] REASONS FOR ACCEPTING. 89 

Carr was desirous to obtain the clerkship just made vacant by the 
preferment of his friend. 

Williamsburg, February 12, 1802. 
My Dear Dabnet: 

This moment I received yours of the 5th. First, with 
regard to the clerkship. You will have heard, before this reaches 
you, that on the evening preceding the last day of the session, 
James Pleasants was elected clerk, for the purpose of making his 
way easy at the next session. If, after this, you determine to 
offer for the place, you may expect from me all that the warmest 
friendship can perform. And though I am removed from the 
immediate scene of action, I flatter myself I could be of service 
to you. 

Now, for my honor. As to the profit, it is a decent main- 
tenance. Next year, the probability is, it will be worth five hun- 
dred pounds, — on which I can live. And although the clerkship, 
together with my practice, would have produced more cash, yet 
it was precarious, and therefore subjected me to the hazard of 
living beyond its limits. It was earned, too, by that kind of labor 
which left no opportunity for the further cultivation of the mind. 

There is another reason, entre nous. I wished to leave Rich- 
mond on many accounts. I dropped into a circle dear to me for 
the amiable and brilliant traits which belonged to it, but in which 
I had found, that during several months, I was dissipating my 
health, my time, my money and my reputation. This conviction 
dwelt so strongly, so incessantly on my mind that all my cheerful- 
ness forsook me, and I awoke many a morning with the feelings of 
a madman. 

I had resolved to leave Richmond, and was meditating only a 
decent pretext to cover my retreat. In this perplexity, the ap- 
pointment descended upon me, unsolicited, unthought of, with the 
benevolent grace of a guardian angel. Yes, my dear Dabney, if 
I do not fill the office with justice, at least, to my country, it shall 
not be for want of unremitting effort on my part. 

• ****•* 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 
VOL. 1—8* 



90 COL. ROBERT GAMBLE. [1S02— 1803. 

The Chancellor entered upon his employment, as we may infer 
from this letter, with a hearty resolve to make this event an era 
from which he might date the beginning of a graver and more 
steadfast career of duty and self-control. 

During his residence in Richmond, his good fortune brought 
him into an intimacy with the family of Colonel Robert Gamble. 
This gentleman was a merchant in that city, and was greatly es- 
teemed for his probity and intelligence. He was wealthy, or, at 
least, in the enjoyment of a competency which enabled him to 
practise a liberal hospitality. His fireside was familiar to the 
most cultivated society of the time. His manners were grave and 
thoughtful, such as attract the deference of the elder portions of 
the community, and command the reverence of the young. 

The clerk of the House of Delegates had a special motive, 
beyond that of his companions who frequented Colonel Gamble's 
house, to desire his good opinion. His unguarded life, unfortu- 
nately, rendered this, perhaps, a more hazardous venture, than 
many others found it. His intimacy brought him within the 
sphere of the attraction of one who was destined to become the 
guardian spirit of his life. It was not long after the period to 
which our narrative has now arrived, that Elizabeth, the second 
daughter of Col. Gamble, became the wife of the subject of this 
memoir. Of all the fortunate incidents in the life of William 
Wirt, his marriage with this lady, may be accounted the most 
auspicious. During the long term of their wedlock, distinguished 
for its happy influence upon the fortunes of both, her admirable vir- 
tues, in the character of wife and mother, her tender affection and 
watchful solicitude in every thing that interested his domestic 
regard, and in all that concerned his public repute, commanded 
from him a devotion which, to the last moment of his life, glowed 
with an ardor that might almost be called romantic. 

In the many letters which have been preserved, written by Mr. 
Wirt to his wife, beginning in the earliest period of their ac- 
quaintance, and continued to the last, most of which have passed 
under the review of the author of this biography, — if such confi- 
dences could be published to the world, they would exhibit to the 
reader the most agreeable evidences of an attachment of which 
time had no power to dull the edge, and which not less intensely 
engrossed the alfcctions of his mature age, than it commanded the 



CHAP. VII.] A THEATRICAL INCIDENT. 91 



worship of his early manhood. No eulogy can better express the 
merit of a woman, than such a tribute from one so able to observe, 
and so formed to appreciate female excellence. 

This prize was not won without many apprehensions. The 
lover had not yet given that hostage to fortune, which might be 
said to strengthen the assurance of the father in the success of the 
young votary. 

The giving away a daughter's hand, is a perilous and respon- 
sible office to a parent. Men weigh this matter, often, with 
painful anxiety, even when the foundations for hope are strongest. 
The clerk of the House, we must admit, was not in the safest 
category for a father's ready consent. There are some men who 
ripen early, and, at eight or nine and twenty, have their full freight 
of discretion and judgment. There are others whose boyhood 
runs into a later date. Wirt was one of these, as they who 
were intimate with him in advanced life, might testify. A certain 
boyishness of character, if I may call it so, did not altogether 
desert his mature age, and, indeed, often disputed the mastery in it. 

Colonel Gamble, the story goes, had his doubts whether the suitor 
should be presently sped in his enterprise, or whether he should 
wait for a longer probation. When he was consulted by the mis- 
giving candidate on that awful point, " to be, or not to be," there 
was some demur, and the young gentleman was put upon his good 
behaviour. 

During this interval, as the tale has been told, Col. Gamble had 
occasion, one summer morning, at sunrise, to visit his future son- 
in-law's office. It unluckily happened that Wirt had, the night 
before, brought some young friends there, and they had had a 
merry time of it, which had so beguiled the hours, that even now, 
at sunrise, they had not separated. The Colonel opened the door, 
little expecting to find any one there at that hour. His eyes fell 
upon the strangest group. There stood Wirt with the poker in 
his right hand, the sheet-iron blower fastened upon his left arm, 
which was thrust through the handle ; on his head was a tin wash 
basin, and, as to the rest of his dress — it was hot weather, and the 
hero of this grotesque scene had dismissed as much of his trap- 
pings as comfort might be supposed to demand, substituting for 
them a light wrapper that greatly added to the theatrical effiict. 
There he stood in this whimsical caparison, reciting, with an 



92 SECOND MARRIAGE. [1802—1803. 

abundance of stage gesticulation, Falstaff"'s onset upon the thieves. 
His back was to the door. The opening of it drew all attention. 
We may imagine the queer look of the anxious probationer, as 
Col. Gamble, with a grave and mannerly silence, bowed and with- 
drew, closing the door behind him without the exchange of a 
word. 

How long this untoward incident might have deferred the hopes 
of the young people, we cannot say, but the promotion to the 
Chancellorship came in, most opportunely, to sustain the pretensions 
of the lover, and to furnish a new pledge for his future sedate- 
ness, and all further trial was dispensed with. He was married 
in Richmond on the 7th of September, 1802. 

He held the Chancellorship but some six or seven months after 
his marriage. The duties attached to it were onerous, exacting 
nearly all his time, whilst they excluded him from that various 
practice upon which he had built his hopes of eminence. The 
salary was too small to meet the demands of a family, and at his 
lime of life he felt that such a post was to be regarded rather as 
an impediment to his progress than a furtherance. The chief ad- 
vantage to be derived from it was the testimony it gave to the 
world of his standing in his profession, and that benefit was not 
likely to be greatly enhanced by his continuing to hold it. A ju- 
dicial appointment, in this country, may justly be regarded as the 
appropriate honor of professional life after the active period of 
ambitious labor is past. It is best adapted to that stage when 
men may be supposed anxious to exchange the severer toils of 
practice for honorable elevation, and for the leisure that may en- 
able them to digest and improve the studies which, in the impor- 
tunities of full occupation at the bar, generally produce fruits 
more abundant than ripe. But to a young lawyer, stimulated by 
the hope of fame and by the ardor of genius, intent upon master- 
ing his profession and turning it to good account in the attainment 
of wealth, such an appointment is but a hindrance at every step 
after the first. 

These considerations were brought very cogently to his mind 
in the position in which he now found himself. In the month of 
November he removed his wife to Williamsburg, and devoted 
himself throughout the ensuing winter with assiduity to the duties 
of his ollice. During this period he made up his mind to relin- 



CHAP. VII.] REMOVES TO WILLIAMSBURG. 93 

quish his judicial honors, and to throw himself once more upon his 
profession. The public attention was at that time strongly drawn 
to Kentucky, as a field especially propitious to the enterprise of 
the young'. Numbers of the most respectable families of Vir- 
ginia had already migrated to that State, and the marvels of its 
rapid growth and teeming prosperity were recounted with such 
commendation as to raise a general fervor in behalf of settlement 
in this El Dorado of the West, We have since become familiar 
with these charms of western adventure, and have seen the vast 
wilderness beyond the Allegany spring into civilization, refinement 
and luxury, with an impulse that even transcends all that the ex- 
cited imagination of the day to which our narrative refers ever 
promised. At that time, however, the promise was mainly di- 
rected to Kentucky, and tliither the tide of emigration from Vir- 
ninia and the other central States chiefly tended. 

Wirt was caught by this common fervor, and began seriously to 
meditate upon a removal to the new country. Friends in Ken- 
tucky urged him to come, painting to him in glowing colors the 
success and advancement that awaited him. Friends in Virginia 
advised him to go, seconding and confirming all the arguments 
which the first had used in the way of inducement. There was, 
however, one richly deserving the name of a true and generous 
friend, who advised a contrary resolve, and entreated him to re- 
main in Virginia. This gentleman was Littleton Waller Taze- 
well, then a most prominent member of the Norfolk bar, and sub- 
sequently greatly distinguished throughout Virginia and the Union 
as one of the leading lawyers and politicians of that State, His 
advice to Wirt was to adhere to that society in which he had 
already experienced so much favor, and to establish his hopes of 
advancement upon the exercise of his talents at the bar of Vir- 
ginia, To enforce this solicitation, Mr, Tazewell offered to share 
with him his own practice in Norfolk, and to throw in his way 
every advantage which his legal connexions might put at his dis- 
posal. The letters which follow to his friend have a reference to 
the5.e questions, amongst others, which are debated with a pleasant 
mixture of good sense and gaiety of temper particularly charac- 
teristic of the writer. 



94 LETTER TO CARR. [1S02— 1803. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 13, 1803. 
Carissime Currus: 

This honor of being a Chancellor is a very empty thing, sto- 
machically speaking; that is, although a man be full of honor his 
stomach may be empty ; or in other words, honor will not go to 
market and buy a peck of potatoes. On fifteen hundred dollars 
a year, I can live, but if death comes how will my wife and family 
live? Her father and mother perhaps dead, her sisters and brothers 
dispersed to the ends of the earth, what will become of her ? This 
is the only rub that clogs the wheels of my bliss, but it is in my 
power to remove even this rub, and, in the event of my death, in a 
few years to leave my wife and children independent of the frowns 
or smiles of the world. 

What I have to ask you, tben, is, shall I, for the sake of a little 
empty honor, forego the pleasure of this independence .? a pleasure 
which would soothe me even in tbe bour of death ; or shall I, for 
the sake of attaining this blessed independence, and the content- 
ment and dignity of mind which belong to it, renounce at once the 
starving honor which I now possess? You may see, from the 
terms in which I state the case, that my own mind is in favor of 
the latter renunciation. Nevertheless, it would give me great sat- 
isfaction that my friends, too, approved of my plans. 

The counsels of my friends in Virginia and in Kentucky, press 
me with fervor to the latter country. There is an uncommon 
crisis in the superior courts of that State, and I am very strongly 
tempted to take advantage of it. I would go to the bar, and bend 
all the powers of my soul and body to the profession for fifteen 
years. In that time, I have no doubt, I should have amassed a 
sufficiency of wealth, to enable me to retire into the lap of my 
family, and give up my latter days to ease. 

In the course of my business there, too, it would be my study 
so to unite my dignity with my interest as, in my old age, to be 
able to lead my sons (if I am blessed w^ith sons) upon the theatre 
of life, so as to pre-engage for them the respect and confidence of 
the world, that they miglit never blush at the mention of their 



CHAP. VII.] LETTER TO CARR. 95 

father's name, unless it were a blush of reflected honor and virtu- 
ous emulation. These are the scenes which dance before my 
delighted imagination, which I believe by no means chimerical ; 
on the contrary, if I enjoy my natural healtii, I have no doubt 
(from the actual experience of others in the same State) of my 
ability to realize them. Such is the prospect on one hand. On 
the other, it is possible that I may, like Mr, Wythe, grow old in 
judicial honors and Roman poverty. I may die beloved, rever- 
enced almost to canonization by my country, and my wife and 
children, as they beg for bread, may have to boast that they were 
mine. Honor and glory are indeed among the strongest attrac- 
tions, but the most towering glory becomes dust in the balance 
when poised against the happiness of my family. 

If you think it right that I should resign, the questions which 
remain are, when shall I do so, and in what country shall I re- 
sume the practice of law? 

As to this token? I am thirty years of age; fifteen years more 
will make me forty-five. In my opinion a man of forty-five ought 
to be able to work or play as he pleases. I have no notion of 
toiling on till I am too old or too infirm to enjoy even retire- 
ment : — so that I have no time to lose. 

As to the where? In Virginia, the most popular lawyer in the 
State merely makes the ends of the year meet, — I mean Edmund 
Randolph. I have this from the gentleman who keeps his books. 
Virginia, therefore, is not the country for my purpose. The 
federal city is not to my taste, or interest. It would require too 
much time there to take root. In the soil of Kentucky every 
thing flourishes with rapidity. Besides, I love the ardent charac- 
ter of the State; and, moreover, it is a country calculated to give a 
man his choice of modes of life. Land being cheap and fertile, he 
may farm it on his country seat, or dash away, when his wealth will 
authorise it, in the circles of the gay, or float his commercial 
speculations down the Mississippi. This latter view of the subject 
is meant to apply to the various views of those to whom I shall, 
with the blessing of heaven, give my name. 

Pray let me have your thoughts at large on this subject. 
******* 

Heaven preserve you, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



96 LETTER TO CARR. [1802—1803. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Williamsburg, March 20, 1803. 
» * * * * # 

You speak of my removal to Kentucky like a friend. The sep- 
aration from many who are dear to me will be painful. It is a 
])ain whicli I seem to have been destined to suffer more frequently 
than almost any body else equally fond of friends. From the time 
I first left my native roof (at the age of seven) I have lived no- 
where, except merely long enough to let my afiections take a firm 
root, when, either want or calamity have torn me up, and wafted 
me into some strange and distant soil. Eight or ten times I have 
experienced this fate : — and although a separation from those 
whom I love and who love me, however often repeated, would 
still be painful, I derive comfort from the thought that my stars 
have never yet thrown me upon a soil too cold or barren for 
friendship and love. And besides, were I to remain here, I should 
be almost as much lost to you and my other beloved friends in 
Albemarle, as if I were on the banks of the Ohio. I owe you, 
my dear friend, a detail of the reasons which actuate me in this 
measure, and I render it with pleasure. 

If I had nothing else to consider but the immediate support of 
my family, I should be obliged to resign my Chancellorship. 
Although you cry out " qui fit Mecoenas," it is not caprice, but the 
iron hand of w^ant which impels me to this resignation. It is true 
that by rejecting every social advance from the inhabitants here, 
which I should be obliged to do, since I could not return them ; by 
immuring myself, from day to day and forever, within the solitary 
walls of my own house, my salary might be sufficient to purchase 
bread and meat, and such raiment as such a life might require ; but 
these are conditions which I choose not to impose either on others 
or myself. Another consideration, replete with terror, is that, as 
my salary depends on my own life, my death would throw my 
wife and children on the charity of a cold and selfish world. All 
these things considered, and also that I am now in the prime of 
life, I woukl ask whether it would not be mean, little, and worthy 
of eternal infamy to sit quietly down against the light of con- 
science, and see these misfortunes coming upon me, one after 



CHAP. VII.] THINKS OF REMOVAL TO KENTUCKY. 97 



another, in direful succession.^ Would you think a man worthy 
of your friendship who should be capable of such disgraceful 
indolence ^ 

The resignation of the Chancellorship becoming thus inevitable, 
the only remaining question is, where shall I resume the practice 
of my profession ? The answer clearly is, in that country where 
I can, with most certainty, achieve the object for which I resign. 
That is a support for my family independent of the world and of 
my own life. You understand me. This is a question which I 
have deliberately considered — not in the delirium of a Kentucky 
fever, " hissing hot, Master Brooke," but with all the scrupulous, 
conscientious coolness of which my mind is capable. 

You ask, why quit the state which has adopted, which has fos- 
tered me, which has raised me to its honors .'' It is the partiality 
of your friendship which puts this question. I am sure that it is 
very immaterial to Virginia where I reside. 

I throw this point entirely out of the question — and consider 
simply the interests of my family : to this I am determined that 
every feeling of private attachment and prepossession for Vir- 
ginia shall bend. Knowing, as I have done experimentally, the 
agony to which the want of wealth, or at least independence, ex- 
poses any mind not devoid of sensibility, it becomes a point of 
conscience, in the first place, and soon an object of pleasurable, 
of delightful pursuit, to shelter those who are dear to me from all 
danger of the like torment. Having once effected this purpose, 
death, who would be to me, now, a king of terrors indeed, Avould 
become merely a master of ceremonies to introduce me into the 
apartments above. 

You ask me how many you could name who are now amassing 
at the bar, in this country, wealth as fast as their hearts can desire, 
or quite fast enough } I answer I don't know how many you could 

name. W. it is true made a fortune. C. is also making a 

fortune. With the exception of these two, there is not 

another individual who has hitherto done this at the bar of these 
courts, or who is now in the way of doing so. I am not sure of 
John Taylor of Caroline. He, however, practised at a most aus- 
picious period ; such a one as does not now exist. Baker, Innes, 
VOL. 1—9 



98 RESIGNS THE CHANCELLORSHIP. [1802-1803. 



Pendleton, Wythe, Marshall, Washington and others,— what have 
they made by the profession ? Not more than the most ordinary 
lawyer in Kentucky is able to do in five or six years. 

Between ourselves, 1 was thirty years old the eighth day of last 
November. Have I any time to lose ? and considering " the uncer- 
tainty of life and the certainty of death," is it not the highest wis- 
dom to improve every flying moment to the best advantage ? Ten 
years of life would do but little here. In Kentucky they might 
and probably would make my family affluent. 

For the first time in my life (and with shame I confess it) I look 
forward, my dear Dabney, with a thoughtful mind, and a heart 
aching with uncertainty, to the years which lie before me. I 
cannot abide the reflection that the time shall ever come when my 
conscience shall reproach me with having neglected the interests 
and happiness of my family ; — with having involved, by my want 
of energy and enterprise, a lovely and innocent wife, with a group 
of tender and helpless children, in want and misery. 

* * * * # * 

But Hope, like an angel of peace, whispers to my heart that this 
shall not be. She does, indeed, sketch some most brilliant and 
ravishing scenes to my waking as well as sleeping fancy. Wealth, 
fame, respect, the love of my fellow-citizens, she designs with the 
boldness and grandeur of an Angelo, while, with all the softness 
and sweetness of Titian's pencil, she draws my wife and a circle 
of blooming, beauteous and smiling cherubs, happy as innocence 
and peace and plenty can make them. 

****** 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The Chancellorship was resigned in May, 1803, and the project 
of the emigration to Kentucky abandoned. Wirt now deter- 
mined to take up his abode in Norfolk, in accordance with Mr. 
Tazewell's advice, although, for the present, he still resided in 
Williamsburg. 



CHAP. VII.] DETERMINES TO SETTLE IN NORFOLK. 99 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, June 6, 1803. 



******* 

Well, sir, you have heard that I have disrobed myself of the 
Chancellor's furs, and I feel much the cooler and liL-hter for it. 
Not but that there was some awkwardness in coming down to 
conflict with men, to whom, a (ew days before, my dictum was 
the law. The pride was a false one, and I revenged myself on it. 
I feel little triumph in being thus able to get out of myself, to 
survey, from an intellectual distance, the workings of my own 
heart, to discern and to chastise its errors. 

The man who can thus make an impartial and candid friend of 
himself, has gained a great point in the reformation and perfection 
of his character. 

Thus it is that a man balances the account of his feelings; mor- 
tification presents her charge, and vanity raises a countervailing 
item. 

You are aware that I am already done with the Kentucky pro- 
ject. I heard, very lately, that there was no cash in that state ; 
that fees were paid in horses, cows and sheep, and that the emi- 
nence of their lawyers was estimated by the size of their drove, 
on their return from their circuits : w^hile, on the other hand, I 
was drawn to Norfolk by the attractions of her bank. 

The single experiment which I have made, justifies this latter 
move. I have been to one District Court, at the town of Suflblk, 
received cash two hundred and eleven dollars, and received other 
business, from substantial merchants, making the whole amount of 
the trip five hundred and twenty-eight dollars, which I consider as 
no ill omen of my future success. In one word, I am assured, 
and I have every reason to believe it, that my annual income wnll 
be twelve hundred pounds, on one-half of which I can maintain 
my family, even were it much larger than it is. Two or three 
years practice will put me in the possession of cash which, in 
such a place as Norfolk, I shall be able to turn over to the greatest 
advantage ; and, all things considered, I do not think the hope ex- 
travagant, that by the time I am forty or, at farthest, forty-five, 



100 A SPECULATION. [1802-1803. 



I shall be able to retire from the bar, in ease and independence, 
and spend the remainder of my life in the bosom of my family, 
and in whatever part of the country I please,— so that I think it not 
improbable I shall, at last, lay my bones near you, in the county 
of Albemarle. 

1 leave this place to-morrow. 

Adieu, my dear friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

1803. 

COMMEVCRS PRACTICE IN NORFOLK.— PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS.— LETTER 
TO POPE.— COMMENTS ON THE PARSIMONV OF JUDICIAL SALARIES — BIRTH 
OF HIS ELDEST CHILD— RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS — TRIAL OF SHANNON — 
SINGULAR CASE OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.— REMOVES HIS RESI- 
DENCE TO NORFOLK. 

After the resignation of the Chancellorship, Wirt repaired to 
Norfolk to recommence the practice of the law in that borough. 
His family residence, however, was still kept up at Williams- 
burg, and was not changed until the ensuing winter. 

His reputation, increased by his late olficial position, now began 
to bring in to him a full harvest of professional fruits. He found 
himself at once inducted into what, at that day,, was termed a 
large practice, and it was manifest that he was rising rapidly to a 
commanding eminence at the Virginia bar. 

Amongst the letters of this period I find one which dwells, 
somewhat in detail, upon his progress in his profession, and con- 
tains some strictures upon the policy of the State Government in 
reference to judicial salaries. These strictures have not lost their 
point at the present day, and may be read with profit in other 
sections of the United States than Virginia. 

This letter is written to one of the first and best of Wirt's 
friends in that state. The name of William Pope will frequently 
occur in these pages connected with a familiar and playful corres- 
pondence. This gentleman, now an octogenarian, still survives to 
attract the regard of a large circle of friends, whose most cher- 
ished recollection of him invariably associates him with the 
memory of the subject of these memoirs. 

He resided, at the date of this correspondence, as he does at 
the present time, (1848,) at Montpelier, his family seat in Pow- 
hatan — a central point between Richmond and Albemarle, some- 
what famous of old for the good fellowship attracted by its worthy 
proprietor. 

VOL. 1—9* 



102 LETTER TO POPE. [1S03. 



TO WILLIAM POPE. 

Richmond, August 5, 180.3. 

My Dear Sir: 

******* 

It gives me pleasure to find that my resignation is not disap- 
proved by my friends. To me, the measure was indispensably 
necessary. The present subsistence and future provision of my 
lamily depended on it. I only wish that it may lead the way to 
some resignation whose inconvenience the State would sensibly 
feel. Such an event would bring our fellow-citizens to their 
senses on the subject of salaries. To be sure, in a republic, pub- 
lic economy is an important thing; but public justice is still more 
important; and there is certainly very little justice in expecting 
the labor and waste of a citizen's life for one-third of the emolu- 
ments which he could derive from devoting himself to the service 
of individuals. Most surely there is no ground on which such a 
sacrifice could be justly expected, except, indeed, on the ground of 
public necessity. If Virginia were too poor to pay her officers, 
it would then become patriotic, indeed it would become a duty to 
make this sacrifice to the country's good. But as it is merely the 
will and not the power that is wanting, it is out of the question to 
expect that a man should make a burnt-offering of himself, his 
wife and his children, on the altar of public avarice or public 
whim. It is really humiliating to think, that although these plain 
truths will be acknowledged by any member of the Legislature to 
whom you address them in private, yet there is scarcely one man 
in the House bold enough to vote his sentiments on the subject, 
after a call of the yeas and nays : — he will not dare to jeopard 
iiis re-election by such a vote. Where is the difference between 
an Assembly, thus unduly influenced, and the National Assembly 
of France, held in duress and impelled by the lawless shouts of a 
Jacobinic gallery } Would a Cato or a Brutus, in the Roman Se- 
nate, even have suppressed, much less belied, his real sentiment 
from a fear of public censure.'' Or is public virtue a different 
thina: now from what it was in their time } But the best of human 
institutions have their defects, — and this is one of those Avhich 
cleave to the glorious scheme of elective government. In all 



CHAP. VriT.] JUDICIAL SALARIES. 103 

cases, whatever may be his own opinion, the representative seems 
to think liimself a mere mirror to reflect the will of his consti- 
tuents, with all its flaws, obliquities and distortions. Even when 
he knows that it will injure the country, he will but echo the po- 
pular voice, with the single motive of retaining his ill-deserved 
office rather than offend the people by honest service. This 
brings to my recollection that Roman Consul who was sent to op- 
pose Hannibal. He was pressing the Carthaginian sorely, when 
his enemies at Rome, envious of the glory which he was about to 
gain, procured a peremptory mandate by which he was required 
immediately to lay down his commission and appear at Rome to 
answer a criminal impeachment. But he saw that a few days 
more of service would deliver his country from the invader, and 
therefore, neither indignant at his country's ingratitude, nor ap- 
palled by her menaces, he dared to disobey. Hannibal was van- 
quished, — Rome was saved, and a triumph was decreed to the dis- 
obedient victor. What member of our Assembly is like this 
consul ? 

I am very much obliged, by the friendly apprehensions which 
you express for my health, on account of the climate of Norfolk. 
But I believe that Norfolk is not at all dangerous, except in the 
latter end of August, September, and the beginning of October, 
and during these months I shall be able to leave the place without 
any material injury to my revenue. The prospect which it holds 
out to me, is flattering in the highest degree. I am already en- 
gaged in very productive business in five courts ; so that you will 
perceive my plan is now too broad to admit of the enlargement 
which you so kindly propose to me. I am very sanguine that, 
with the blessing of Providence, I shall be able to retire from bu- 
siness in ten or fifteen years, with such a fortune as will place my 
family, at least above want. 

# * * * * * # 

And how do you prosper, my good friend .'' Does fortune flow 
in upon you in a golden deluge .'* I hope it does. Good men, only 
deserve to be rich, because they, only, are disposed to employ 
their wealth for the good of the world. But things, in general, 
take a different turn, and none grow rich but the selfish and the 

sordid. Our friend B , however, is an illustrious exception to 

this remark. A more feeling, a more benevolent, a more philan- 



104 BIRTH OF HIS ELDEST CHILD. [1803. 

thropic heart never palpitated in the bosom of a man. I love him 
because he makes no parade of his sympathies. He is good and 
kind, and tender in secret ; and he is satisfied with the silent, yet 
genial approbation of his own heart. But, because he is not a 
scribe or pharisee, to stand in the market and crossways to render 
ostentatious charities, and because he still thrives and prospers, 
the malignant world has slandered him as selfish and miserly. 
******* 
I beg you to give my sincere and fervent love to him. Re- 
member me also, if you please, to that excellent little fellow 

Q , and believe me. 

Dear Pope, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

On the 3d of September, within a few weeks after the date of 
this letter, Wirt's eldest child, Laura Henrietta, was born. 

Tliis event awakened his feelings to new resolves in the way of 
duty, and, what is worthy of note, to a more full and open recog- 
nition of those sentiments of religious faith to which I have here- 
tofore adverted, and in the gradual development of which, through- 
out the progress of his life, we shall see a natural and agreeable 
illustration of the tendencies of a highly intellectual mind to seek 
for its security and content in the sacred wisdom of Christianity. 

We have a strong evidence of this conviction in a letter to 
Mrs. Wirt, written to her in Richmond, wliilst her husband was 
employed in the duties of his profession at W^illiamsburg. In 
submitting a few extracts from this letter, I must express the re- 
serve I feel against the violation of those confidences which belong 
to a relation that, of all others, is least suited to the exposure of 
its secrets to the world. The free utterances of the heart, in such 
a relation, may very rarely and scantily afford a theme for public 
comment, even with the most delicate caution in the disclosure. 
To bring them witiiin the confines of what is due to the proper 
office of biography, much must necessarily be omitted ; and, in 
regard to that which is given, the reader will receive it with the 
allowance which may justly be claimed for communications which 
were never designed for perusal beyond the family hearth, or to 



CHAP. VIII.] RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 105 

encounter a remark that was not suggested by the nearest and 
most adectionate sympathy with the writer. 

I may liereaftcr have many extracts to make from this portion 
of Wirt's correspondence, and I therefore announce, in ad- 
vance, the consideration which shall induce me to withhold much 
more than I submit, and which I hope will equally relieve me 
from the imputation of improperly invading the sanctuary of pri- 
vate affection, and what I may offer, from the criticism of fas- 
tidious readers. 

On the present occasion he writes : 

* * * " Your reason will forbid you to lament my 
absence too deeply, when you reflect what it is has carried me 
away. It is not misfortune; but, strong in health, flushed with 
hope, and animated by the consciousness that I am in the dis- 
charge of my duty, I go to prepare more prosperous days. * 

* * * This is the reflection which, with the smile of 
Heaven, shall not only support me through fatigue, but sweeten 
all the toils of my profession. How rugged would the path even 
of duty appear; how fruitless, how solitary, how disconsolate 
would even prosperity be, if I alone were to taste it ! It is the 
thought that my wife and children are to share it with me — 

* * * These are the fond ideas which possess my soul, 
which never fail to smooth my brow in the midst of tumult, to 
speak peace to my heart, and to scatter roses over my path of life. 

******* 
" How much do I owe you ! Not only the creation of my hopes 
of happiness on earth, but the restoration of my hopes of happi- 
ness in a better world. * * * j ,-|r,ust confess that 
the natural gaiety of my character, rendered still more reckless 
by the dissipation into which I had been allured, had sealed my 
eyes, and hidden from me the rich inheritance of the righteous. 
It was you, whose example and tender exhortations rescued me 
from the horrors of confirmed guilt, and taught me once more to 
raise my suppliant mind to God. The more I reflect on it, the 
more highly do I prize this obligation. I am convinced, tho- 
roughly and permanently convinced, that the very highest earthly 
success, the crowning of every wish of the heart would still 
leave even the earthly happiness of man incomplete. The soul 
has more enlarged demands, which nothing but a communion with 



106 TRIAL OF SHANNON. [1803. 

Heaven can satisfy. The soul requires a broader and more solid 
basis, a stronger anchor, a safer port in which to moor her hap- 
piness, than can be found on the surface of this world. 

******* 

" Remembering how often Heaven snatches away our idols to 
show us the futility of sublunary enjoyments, and to point our 
thoughts and aiiections to a better world, I pray that its kindness 
would so attemper my love for my wife and her child, as not to 
destroy the reflection, that for them, as well as every other bless- 
ing, I depend on the unmerited beneficence of my God ; and never 
to permit my love for them to destroy my gratitude, my humble 
dependence on the Father of the Universe, whose power is equalled 
by his parental kindness and mercy. 

" How should I be laughed at if this letter were read by those 
w^ho were once my wild companions ! How should I be envied if 
they knew the sweet feelings with wiiich I have poured out these 
reflections, warm from my heart !" 

Constitutionally gay and light-hearted, as the writer of this letter 
always was, even to the latter days of his life, and noted in youth 
for what might almost be deemed the excess of this temperament, 
these evidences of his graver thoughts and feelings, cast a mellow 
tint over his character, and furnish an early presage of the pre- 
dominating hue which distinguished it in the evening of his career. 
He was, about this time, concerned in the trial of a cause in 
Williamsbui'g, together with his friend Tazewell and Mr. Semple, 
a gentleman who was afterwards promoted to the bench, as 
counsel for a man by the name of Shannon. This case is only re- 
markable as a curious instance, both of the conclusiveness of cir- 
cumstantial evidence, and the uncertainty of the verdict of a jury 
when perplexed by the eloquence of adroit counsel. 

Shannon was arraigned for the murder of his father-in-law, who 
had been shot at night, in his own house, through the window. 
No motive was kno^vn to exist for the deed; the murderer was 
unknown; and the circumstances of the case almost defied investi- 
gation. The death was produced by buckshot. The morning 
after the murder, whilst the neighbors, and such others as the 
rumor of the deed had brought together, were examining the 
premises, to find some clue to the discovery of the assassin, and 
liad come almost to the point of abandoning the inquiry as hope- 



CHAP. VIII.] CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 107 

less, one amongst them, a man somewhat noted for his shrewdness 
in curious investigation, placed himself in what, he concluded, 
must have been the post occupied by the murderer when the shot 
was fired : — then examining along the line of the direction of the 
fire, he discovered a small piece of letter paper, which manifestly, 
from the mark of powder and fire upon it, must have been part of 
the wadding of the gun. This paper had a single letter, m written 
upon it, and torn from the word to which it belonged. About 
the moment when this discovery was made, some one remarked, 
that Shannon, the son-in-law, had not been present that morning. 
His absence on such an occasion, was thought strange; and, forth- 
with, a general inquiry was made after him. With no stronger 
ground for suspicion than this fact, a search was immediately 
made to ascertain where he was. He dwelt on the opposite side 
of James River, some seven or eight miles distant; but, it was 
proved that he had been in Williamsburg the day before with a 
gun, which was without a lock. A blacksmith, who gave this 
testimony, stated, moreover, that Shannon had brought the gun to 
him to be repaired, and he not being able to repair it that day, 
it was taken away in the condition in which it was brought. A 
party now set out for Shannon's house. He was not there: he 
had not been there during the night. They pursued their quest 
and found him at last, thirty miles off, in a tavern, asleep, with his 
clothes on. Upon being arrested and examined, a few buckshot 
were found in his pocket, and a letter with oqc corner torn off, to 
which the fragment, picked up at the house of the deceased, was 
applied and found to fit, coupling the letter m with y and shewing 
its proper relation in a written sentence. These facts, it seems, 
were not strong enough to persuade the jury of the guilt of the 
prisoner. One of the twelve, more scrupulous than the rest, or, 
we may infer, more susceptible to the influences of the specious 
eloquence of counsel, who were, doubtless, very ingenious^ as the 
phrase is, in the defence of the suspected culprit, "hung out," and, 
as a consequence, starved out his compeers, and so, brought them 
to the confession that they could not agree; and they were ac- 
cordingly discharged, and Shannon was allowed to go forth un- 
molested, to claim the benefit of his successful speculation. 

Wirt appears to have excited great expectations as the counsel 
in this case. The court house at Williamsburg was thronged 



108 REMOVES TO NORFOLK. [1803. 



with visiters, — a large number of ladies amongst the rest, — and 
his speech in the case is remembered as one of the best of his 
early displays at the bar. 

In a letter to his wife written when this trial was about to come 
on, 29th Sept. 1803, there is the following reference to it: 

"Only one Judge to-day — Winston. Parker is expected to- 
night. 

J«: * * * * * 

" The gallery was full of ladies, expecting to hear (as C. tells 

me) Mr. VV defend Shannon.— 'Vain creature !' say you. — 

Vain enough; but not on this account. The man who knows and 
feels his own foibles, and can draw otf from himself so far as to 
make a proper estimate of his own imperfections, will not be hurt 
by the flatteries of others. 

****** 

"What do you think of Shannon's gallantry.? Although in 
irons and chained to the wall and floor, he has made a conquest of 
the gaoler's wife, and she has declared her resolution to petition 
for a divorce from her husband, and follow Shannon, if he is ac- 
quitted, to the end of the world." 

#**#** 

In the month of December, Wirt took a house in Norfolk, and 
by the commencement of the new year, 1804, he removed his 
family thither, to make it, for the future, his permanent abode. 



CHAPTER IX. 

1803 — 1804. 

THE BRITISH SPY.— ENEMIES MADE BY IT— I-ETTERS TO CARR, WITH SOME 
ANECDOTES CONNECTED WITH THE PUBLICATION OF THE SPY.— HIS 
OPINION OF THAT WORK. 

Wirt now appears in the character of an author. During 
the month of August, 1803, he commenced the letters of The 
British Spy. They were published in September and October, in 
" The Argus," at Richmond. 

The popularity of The British Spy, had scarcely a parallel 
in any work, in the same department of letters, which had, at that 
date, been contributed to American literature. It may be regarded 
as having conferred upon its author a distinct and prominent lite- 
rary reputation. 

The reader of these letters, at this day, will express his sur- 
prise that the public judgment should have given such weight 
to a production so unlabored, and so desultory. He will not 
fail to perceive, it is true, in these essays, an agreeable foretaste 
of high literary accomplishment, but he will regard this, rather as 
the earnest of a talent to achieve a distinction in letters, than the 
achievement itself; and he will find occasion, in the singular success 
of this little book, to remark how eagerly the taste of this country 
was disposed, at that period, to welcome any clever effort to con- 
tribute even the lightest donation towards the increase of our 
small stock of national authorship. 

These letters are written in a polished and elegant style, exhib- 
iting, very notably, a most accurate study and appreciation of the 
best standards of English literature. They deal with such topics 
of superficial observation as a casual residence in Virginia, and 
particularly at Richmond, might be supposed to supply to an edu- 
cated foreigner. The distinctive traits of Virginia society, man- 
ners, opinions and popular institutions, are glanced at with a happy 
facility of observation ; some geological questions are discussed 

VOL. 1 — 10 



110 THE BRITISH SPY. [1S03— 1904. 

with an acuteness of remark and fullness of information which 
denionstate that the science to which they refer was a favorite 
study of the author. But the chief topic, and one which, it is 
evident, furnished the predominant motive to the writing of the 
letters, is that which leads him to a dissertation upon modern 
eloquence, and the illustration of it by a picture of some of the 
leading lawyers of Virgina. To this theme he had obviously 
given a careful study, and sought to embody its conclusions in 
these letters. He performs this duly with the love of a student 
expatiating on his chosen pursuit. The British Spy may, in this 
respect, be considered as the treatise " De Oratore" of one who 
was no small proficient in the art, and, in that light, may be read 
with profit by every aspirant to the honors of the public speaker. 
He who does read it will regret that a master who could so hap- 
pily instruct, has not, at greater leisure, with larger scope and at 
a malurer period of his life, given to the world a volume on this 
topic enriched by his own varied experience and profound phi- 
losophy. 

The success of these letters astonished no one more than their 
author. They were written rapidly and committed, almost as soon 
as written, to the columns of a newspaper, w'here they appeared 
with every blemish and imperfection to which such a medium of 
publication was liable. Although a studied concealment of the 
authorship was preserved, during the period of publication and for 
some time afterwards, this did not protect the writer either from 
vehement suspicion at first, nor from the final determination of the 
paternity of the book by the community. 

In some of the portraits which the author drew of his contem- 
poraries at the bar, he is said to have given offence, and to have 
brought upon himself threats of reprisal. At the present time, so 
remote from that which witnessed these agitations, we marvel that 
comments, so little derogatory to the personal excellence of the 
subjects of them — which, in fact, rather infer and sustain their 
reputation, as men sufficiently prominent to form examples and 
studies — that these should have embittered any one against their 
author. It is, nevertheless, true, as we shall see in some of the 
correspondence of this period, that the author did not escape 
without making enemies by his book. 



CHAP. IX. 



ENEMIES MADE BY IT. Ill 



It is pleasant to know, however, that these enmities were not 
long-lived, and that some of the most intimate friends and asso- 
ciates of Mr. Wirt's subsequent days were those with whom he 
was supposed to have too freely dealt in the letters. 

The asperities which arose out of this publication did not check 
the aulhor in the career of his humor, nor disturb his equanimity. 
Nor did they disable him from his defence, as may be seen 
from the perusal of the volume. 

Extensive as was the popularity of this small work at the time 
of its first appearance, it is but little read at the present day. 
Forty years bring a severe test to the quality of any book. They 
are generally fatal to the million of light literature. There was a 
time when few libraries in this country were unsupplied with a 
copy of the British Spy. It is not so now. The overteeming 
press pours forth its stream with such torrent-like rapidity and 
fullness, that the current has well nigh swept away the light craft 
of the last generation — even such as were supposed to be most 
securely moored. We must look for them now only in those 
nooks and occasional havens where the fortunate eddy has given 
them shelter against the pressure of the flood. The British Spy- 
is still worthy to be refitted and thrown once more upon the wave. 

The two following letters to Carr, furnish some pleasant anec- 
dotes connected with the production of this little book. In the 
second of the two, the reader will mark some new aspirations 
towards literary enterprise, agreeably mixed up with some details 
of professional occupation, and with a grave dissertation upon a 
subject of growing importance in the mind of the writer. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Norfolk, January 16, 1804. 
My Dear Aminadab: 

Yours of the 31st ult, reached me by the last mail. 1 am 
rejoiced that this silence is at last broken. I was several times on 
the point of breaking it myself, although, as you acknowledge, 
you were a letter in my debt; but some perverse circumstance 
always thwarted the intention. Indeed, like Martha, I have been 
busy about many things; though I hope that, like Mary, I have 
chosen the better part. 



112 LETTER TO CARR. [1S03— 1804. 

This is Sunday, so you must allow me to be a little scriptural. 
But waving with you the lohy and the icherefore^ I rejoice at this 
resurrection of our correspondence, and I trust that no wintry cir- 
cumstance will ever again occur to suspend its pulse of life even 
for a moment. Mark, sir, how metaphorical 1 am ! But, in 
plain and sober earnest, I look to you as one of those few well 
tried and dearly beloved friends who will often relax my " brow of 
care," and checker, with soft and genial light, the dusky path of 
life. I look forward, with a kind of plaintive pleasure, to the 
period when, after my bones are in the grave, my children, in 
turning over my old letters, will meet with yours and my dear 
Peachy's,* and, with eyes swimming with tears, hang over your 
warm and affecting expressions of love and friendship. It is this 
that touches my heart; it is this pathetic prospect, connected with 
the present enjoyment of your intercourse, that fortifies me against 
the chances of the world, and new strings my system for the 
labors of my profession. But for the domestic joys which encircle 
me, and the conviction that I have a iew valuable friends by whom 
I am known and beloved, I should be the poorest wretch for busi- 
ness that ever groaned upon the earth. How can men toil as I 
see them doing here ; business in their heads, business in their 
hearts, business forever in their faces, without one palpitation to 
tell them what love and friendship mean. Not, my dearest sir, 
that I would turn my back on any business, however herculean, 
but I must unbend and refresh whenever the voice of pure affec- 
tion calls me. Often, my dear Dabney, may yours call me ! You 
will find my heart ever ready to echo you. — But to answer you, in 
order. 

I come, in order, to a certain author y'clept the British Spy. 
I shall not be cither so unfriendly or so childishly aftected as to 
deny the brat to be my own. To the world, however, I do not 
choose to make any such proclamation, for divers obvious reasons. 
Indeed I gain nothing by this silence. Tlie thmg is as generally and 
confidently imputed to me, as if my name were in the title page. 
For you are to understand that, very far beyond my expectations, 
the printer has found it his interest not only to bind it up in a 
pamphlet, but to issue a second edition. It is meet that I give 
you some account of the rise and progress of this affair. 

* Mr. Peacliy Gilmer, an elder brother of Francis Walker. 



CHAP IX. ANECDOTES OF THE SPY. 115 

I was in Richmond, attending on a business with whose painful 
anxieties experience has made you acquainted. It was to divert my 
own mind, during this period of uneasiness and alarm that I begaa 
to write. But after tiie project was thus started, I will acknovvlc(lL;;e 
to you, my friend, that there were secondary considerations which 
supported and warmed me throughout the enterprise. I was 
gratilied by the encomiums which were generally pronounced on 
the composition, and I was still more delicately gratified in obser- 
ving the pleasure with which my wife heard those encomiums. I 
was flattered by the circumstance that, while the world applauded, 
it concurred in imputing the production to me; and this without 
any other evidence than that of the work itself. For the imputa- 
tion proved, at least, that the world had not a disadvantageous 
opinion of my understanding. I adopted the character of a British 
Spy, because I thought that such a tiile, in a republican paper, 
would excite more attention, curiosity and interest than any other : 
and having adopted that character, as an author, I was bound to 
support it. I endeavored to forget myself; to fancy myself the 
character which I had assumed ; to imagine how, as a Briton, I 
should be struck with Richmond, its landscapes, its public char- 
acters, its manners, together with the political sentiments and 
moral complexion of the Virginians generally. I succeeded so 
well that in several parts of the country, particularly in Glouces- 
ter, and in the neighborhood of Norfolk, the people went so far as 
to declare that they had seen the very foreigner, (and a Briton he 
was, too,) who had written the letters. The editor of a paper in- 
Massachusetts, by whom the letters were republished, declared his 
opinion that the author was an American who had received his 
education in Great Britain, and had now returned to his native 
country. Otherwise he could not account for the union of British 
prejudice with the intimate knowledge of this country, which was 
manifested in the work. You may be sure that I was not a little 
tickled with these sagacious guesses. Unfortunately, however, in 
my zeal to support my adopted character, I forgot myself too far 
in some of the letters. Hence the strictures on the entertainers of 
Uunmore's son; hence the portraits of living characters, which I 
drew with a mind as perfectly absorbed in the contemplation of 
the originals, and as forgetlive of personal consequences " as if I 
kad really belonged to another planet;" and, upon my honor, with 

VOL. 1 — 10* 



9 
114 ANECDOTES. [1S03— 1804. 

as little ill-will towards either of the gentlemen. It was not until 

it appeared in print that the letter portraying R and W 

startled me. Then the indiscretion stared me full in the face; but 
" the die was cast," — and, to make the worst of it, I had merely 
published imprudent truths. But I had made enemies of the gen- 
tlemen themselves, with all their connexions and dependencies. 
To W I have made some atonement in the last edition, be- 
cause of the magnanimity with which he viewed the publication ; 
but to R I have not offered, and I never will offer an expia- 
tion. He had the vanity to declare that the whole work, although 
it embraced such a variety of topics, had one sole design, and that 
was to degrade him ; was weak enough to mention, in one of 
his arguments before Mr. Wythe, "the scrutinizing eye of the 
British Spy," and, to express to his brethren his wish that the 
British Spy was practising at that bar. This has been told me on 
unquestionable authorit3\ In his last wish he has been in a 
measure gratified. He was called to the bar of the Suflblk District 
Court in an important case in which I opposed him. The ques- 
tion was a legal one, and the argument, of course, addressed to 
the court. He had the conclusion, and, as Tyler and Prentis were 

the judges, I was a little uneasy lest the weight of R 's name, 

added to the authoritative manner of his speaking, should have an 
undue eflect on their honors; for this reason I thought myself 
authorised to express this apprehension, which I did with the 
highest compliments to his eloquence. I went farther, and antici- 
pated, as well as I could, not only the matter but the very manner 
of the replies which I supposed he would make to my argument. 
I am told that all this was most strikingly in the spirit, style, and 
manner of the British Spy. I had, however, no intention to wound 
his feelings, but merely to do justice to my cause, and give it fair 
play before the court. 

Apprehending, from the faces of the company, as well as from 

the mortified looks of R , that I had gone beyond my purpose, 

and said more than the occasion justified, I spoke to him, and 
stated very sincerely the purpose of my remarks. He professed 
to be satisfied ; but he was disconcerted and wounded, past all 
power of forgiving. He was so confounded, that in his argument 
l»e manifested nothing of the orator, nor even of himself, but the 
person and voice. His arguments were the very weakest his cause- 



CHAP. IX.] ANECDOTES. 115 

furnished ; his order (to use an Irishism) was all confusion, and 
he is said to have made the very worst speech that he ever did 
make. In short, he disappointed every body, and lost a cause 
Avhich he had declared himself, all over the country, sure to gain. 
If he had never been my enemy before, that one adventure would 
have made him so. He is, I suppose, implacable; but, as my 
iieart acquits me of any premeditated injury, and as I fear him 

not, I am very little disturbed at his displeasure. Mr. W is 

not only reconciled, but, to all appearance, even partial to me, 
since he has been lately instrumental in promoting my professional 
benefit. Marshall, too, has given me a fee in a Chancery case. 
Perhaps they are pleased in running parallels between them- 
selves and some great Roman, as Julius Caesar, who, being 
severely libelled by Catullus, invited his libeller to supper and 
treated him so courteously, that he was ever after his friend. Be 
it so. I am sure that I am no libeller in intention ; and, if I am 
not blinded by partiality, the portraits in question are marked with 
candor and benevolence. With regard to the justifiability of 
the thing, I am not yet convinced that established lawyers are not 
proper game for the press, so far as concerns their talents ; nor 
am I clear that the procedure was wrong on the ground of public 
utility. That it was indiscreet, I am willing to admit, and I 
heartily wish I had let them alone. Yet I am very sure that a 
great part of the public interest excited by the Spy, is imputable 
to those portraits of prominent characters. For my own part, I 
declare sincerely, that when I shall have reached that age in 
which I may be supposed to have touched the zenith of my mind, 
I should be so far from being displeased, that I should be gratified 
in seeing my intellectual portrait set in a popular work. 

******* 

It was alleged, by a writer in the Examiner, under the signa- 
ture of Cato, that, " in a professional point of view, the Spy was 
ungenerous, because it was an attempt in the author to degrade 
the talents of competitors whom he ought to have met only on 
equal terms." 

Now, the fact is, that they are no competitors of mine. I do 
not practise in the same court with any of them, and whether 
they are deified or damned, my revenue will be the same. How, 



116 A CRITICISM. [IS03-1804. 

then, is my interest involved in the aflair; even if I were capable 
of being induenced, in such a case, by so sordid a principle ? 

I cannot help being- surprised at what you tell me relative to 
the opinion of my political apostasy. I am not, indeed, surprised 
that such an opinion should exist; for, after the dereliction of 

B , almost any suspicions of this nature, about cmy body^ are 

pardonable. But what / am surprised at is, that any man, how- 
ever " young," who deserves to be " highly esteemed for intel- 
lect," should believe the British Spy to contain evidence of my 
apostasy. 

For the purpose of personal concealment, as well as for the 
purpose of keeping alive the public curiosity, it was my business 
to maintain the character which I had assumed, and therefore the 
sentiments of the Spy are those of a Briton. Would it not have 
been absurd to clothe a Briton with the opinions and feelings of a 
Virginian and a Republican? 

I am glad that you, yourself, have viewed this subject in a 
proper light. No, my dear Dabney, I am not changed. If I 
were basely disposed to apostatise, I should at least have more 
cunning than to choose this time for it, when the refulgence of the 
administration has struck its enemies blind and dumb. Those 
who suppose me an apostate, pay as poor a compliment to my 
understanding, as they do to the rectitude of my heart. But I 
am not angry with them for it; since, from what Amerca has ex- 
liibited in some of her leading characters, each man in the com- 
munity has a right to exclaim with Cato, " the world has grown 
so wicked, that I am surprised at nothing." 

Your remarks on the Spy, as a writer, are, I think, rather the 
sentiments of a friend, than the opinions of a critic. Let me give 
you my opinion of those letters. Putting aside the traits by 
which the author sustains his dramatic character, his sentiments 
are generally just, and sometimes display the man of feeling. 
But his disquisitions are too desultory, and the topics too lightly 
touched to contain much of the useful. The letters bespeak a mind 
rather frolicksome and spriglitly, than thoughtful and penetrating ; 
and therefore a mind qualified to amuse, for the moment, but not 
to benefit either its proprietor or the world, by the depth and 
utility of its researches. The style, although sometimes happy, 



CHAP. IX.] 



A CRITICISM. 117 



is sometimes, also, careless and poor; and, still more frequently, 
overloaded with epithets ; and its inequality proves either that the 
author wanted time or industry or taste to give it, throughout, a 
more even tenor. Yet these letters are certainly superior to the 
trash with which we are so frequently gorged through tiie medium 
of the press. 

Such is the character which, if I were a critical reviewer, 
and were reviewing this worlc, 1 should certainly give of it ; and 
yet, I cannot but confess that if a critic of reputation were to 
draw such a character, I should be as much mortified as if it 
were unjust. Strange, inconsistent creature is man ! But enough 
of the Spy, — except that I will tell you I was very near drawing 
the character of " the Honorable Thomas" in it. I had the out- 
lines fixed in my mind, but I found, on the experiment, that in 
finishing up the portrait, I should be obliged, either to sacrifice 
the unity of my assumed character, or to dilute some of the colors 
in the most unpardonable manner. I had another consideration. 
He was the President, with a considerable train of patronage; 
and, by the time which I had fixed for the insertion of his portrait, 
1 had begun to be suspected as the author of the Spy. I knew, 
therefore, that political malignity and meanness would ascribe the 
sketch to motives which I disdain. On all which accounts, citizen 
Thomas has escaped being butchered by my partiality for him. 
You are beginning, by this time, to accuse me of egotism ; but, 
between friends, there is no such thing ; for, friends are one and 
indivisible. Besides, I have said nothing more than what I 
thought necessary to vindicate myself against aspersions which you 
have, no doubt, read, and which, perhaps, form a part of that tor- 
rent of abuse which has been, and still is, pouring out against me. 
******* 
Little did I dream of such serious consequenees from what, 
to me, seemed an innocent sport; much less did I dream that those 
trifles would have survived the newspaper ephemeras of the day; 
and least of all, that they would have been perpetuated and ex- 
tended by a second edition of the pamphlet. O tempora ! 
****** 
Excuse my brevity, and believe me 

Your friend, 

WiM. Wirt. 



118 LETTER TO CARR. [1803—1804. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Norfolk, June 8, 1804. 

• #*•*** 

You will acquit me of the poor vanity of boasting of the pres- 
sure of business. In the Borough of Norfolk every drone feels 
the pressure of business. This pressure often, too, depends less 
on the quantum of business than on the strength and dexterity of 
the agent. If I had given more of my time to the books and 
practice of my professional should have less investigation and toil 
to undergo now ; but I used to think it enough to have a tolerable 
understanding of that kind of business which usually occurred in 
the middle country. I had not the noble and generous emulation 
which should have incited me to master the science of law in all 
its departments. The consequence is, that being transplanted to the 
shores of the Atlantic, where the questions grow almost entirely 
out of commerce, I have fallen into a business totally new to me, 
and every case calls for elaborate examination. But I deserve the 
addition of this labor, and willingly do penance for my past idle- 
ness. The principal inconvenience resulting from it is, that I have 
no time left for reading ; and now, most perversely, because it is 
impracticable, I am stung with a restless passion for the acquire- 
ment of science. In this dilemma I have no refuge or consolation, 
except in very distant prospect. I look on, perhaps with fond de- 
lusion, to the time when I shall be able to retreat from the toil of 
business; when, in the bosom of my own family, I shall find the 
joys of ease, independence and domestic bliss — become a very 
epicure in literary luxuries, and jicrhaps raise some monument to 
my name to which my posterity, at least, may look with pleasure. 
1 grant it, sir — it is extremely visionary — it most probably never 
will come to pass — but possibly it may, and the possibility, remote 
as it is, reflects a cheering ray to gild the darkness of the present 
moment. Not, indeed, that the present moment is as dark as 
Egypt once was. It is true that I have yet to struggle into notice ; 
I have yet a fortune to make, a family to provide for — a family 
who, if my life were terminated in any short time, would be thrown 
on the charity of the world. It is this reflection that wraps my 
soul in gloom, and the horror is deepened when I consider the 



CHAP, rx.] RELIGIOUS REFLECTIONS. 119 

climate of Norfolk, and remember that I am yet a stranger to it. 

To think of this, and then to look upon my wife and child ! 

But " Away with melancholy " — for 

"There's a sweet little cherub sits smiling aloft. 
To keep watch for the life of poor " 

me. Jlllons ! 

You have made, sir, in your letter of the 29th of February, a 
rhapsody on life, and love, and friendship, which is exquisitely 
beautiful and just. How grateful are such effusions, how grateful 
to my mind and to my heart ! They make me proud of your 
friendship. My dear C, it is at such moments that my soul flies 
out to meet yours, and as they commingle, I feel myself exalted 
and refined. Can mere matter be excited to ecstacies so pure 
and celestial as these .' Or is there not, indeed, " a divinity 
that stirs within us .^" I hope, I wish, I cheerfully believe that I 
have a soul, for then I think myself more worthy of your friend- 
ship. I should feel humiliated and mortified if I could imagine 
the friendship, the warm, the generous emotions of a heart and 
mind like yours, lavished on a perishable mass of matter, and I 
would not, if I could help it, be in any thing unworthy of your 
friendship. 

Now, do not puzzle yourself and me, too, on this subject of the 
soul, by a subtle disquisition concerning the highest point of per- 
fectibility to which matter may be organized ; by weighing and 
balancing the probabilities of different opinions, as we were wont 
to do, in the scales of human reason. I am persuaded that there 
is a range of subjects above the reach of human reason ; sub- 
jects on which reason cannot decide, because " it cannot com- 
mand a view of the whole ground." Could the tick, which 
invades and buries itself in my foot, conceive or describe the 
anatomy of my frame ? Could the man w^ho has passed every mo- 
ment of his life at the foot of the Andes, paint the prospect which 
is to be seen from its summit .'' No more, in my opinion, can 
reason discuss the being of a God, or the reality of that miracle, 
the Christian faith. If you ask me why I believe in the one or 
the other, I can refer you to no evidence which you can examine, 
because I must refer you to my own feelings. I cannot, for in- 
stance, look abroad on the landscape of spring, wander among 



120 REASON AND FAITH. [1S03— 1S04. 

blooming orchards and gardens, and respire the fragrance which 
they exliale, without feeling the existence of a God : my heart 
involuntarily dilates itself, and, before I am aware of it, grati- 
tude and adoration burst from my lips. If you ask me why these 
objects have never produced this effect before, I answer that I 
cannot tell you. Perhaps my nature has grown more susceptible ; 
perhaps I have learned to rely less on the arbitrations of human 
reason; perhaps I have gotten over the vanity of displaying the 
elevation and perspicuity of intellect on which the youthful deist 
is apt to plume himself. Whatever may be the cause, I thank it 
for leading me from the dreary and sterile waste of infidelity. I 
am happy in my present impressions, and had rather sit alone, in 
Arabia Felix, than wander over the barren sands of the desert, in 
company with Bolingbroke and Voltaire. 

Reason, my dear friend, in its proper sphere, is the best, and 
ought to be the only guide of our actions ; but let it keep within 
its proper sphere, and confine its operations to its proper subjects. 
I admire its powers, I admire its beauties. I also admire the powers 
of the chemist, and the beauty of his science : yet, notwithstand- 
ing the astonishing developement which the chemist makes of the 
secrets of nature, however his experiments may break up long- 
established principles, decompose bodies which for centuries have 
been deemed simple primitive elements, and prove them to be 
combinations, — re-decompose the ingredients of that combination, 
and detect them, in their turn, to be compositions ; in short, how- 
ever far the chemist may push his discoveries, his labors must 
still be confined to matter ; he cannot analyze thought. But 
thought is not more different from or more superior to matter, 
than God is to that class of subjects which constitute the theatre 
of reason. Reason is not, therefore, the proper channel of con- 
viction, in matters so far above its reach. That conviction can be 
given, in my opinion, only through the channel of sensibility : this 
is another name for what Soame Jennyngs calls the internal evi- 
dence of the Christian faith, and what is generally well understood 
by the intrinsic evidence of revealed religion. 

But enough of a subject on which I sliould not be at all aston- 
ished if, already, you think and pronounce me mad. When 
you are as old as I am, you may thus grow mad in your turn ; for, 



CHAP. IX.] THE BRITISH SPY. 121 

be it remembered, that ichen I rcas as young as you are, I was as 
wise as you are, on this subject. 

Do not suspect, however, that I am a downright bedlamite, nor 
even an enthusiast. My sentiments, on this subject, are calm and 
temperate ; they fill me with no horrors for the past, nor agonizing 
terrors for the future. I cherish them because they are a source 
of pure enjoyment to me, because they render me more happy in 
every relation of life, and more respectable in my own eyes ; nor 
would they even have led me to annoy you with this declaration 
of them, if you had not demanded an explanation of some passages 
in the Spy. 

As to the Spy, let me tell you that your favorable opinion of it 
gratifies me very highly, for I know your judgment and your can- 
dor ; but let me, also, tell you, that after you had listened to the 
voice of your friendship, and gratified me, too, with the sound of 
it, I looked that you should have put off everything like partiality, 
assumed the rigid critic and censor of the world, and have told me 
the faults of those compositions. I know that some speculative 
moralists have said and written that a man cannot bear to hear his 
faults told, even by his friend. It is said, too, that authors are 
particularly ticklish about the offspring of their brain. This may 
be true : but I am sure that I could hear my faults from you, and 
mend upon it. Some of the faults of the Spy I know and was 
conscious of when they were sent to the press ; such as the re- 
dundance of words, and the comparatively small bulk of the 
matter. Next to the exuberance of verbiage and the want of 
matter, is the levitj, desultoriness, and sometimes commonness of 
the thoughts which are expressed. Upon the whole, the work is 
too tumid and too light ; yet these, perhaps, are the very proper- 
ties which gave it the degree of admiration which it excited ; for 
the essay on the liberty of the press, the work of Hortensius, 
which came out at the same time in the same paper, had not, as 
far as I have learned, one half of its popularity. 

I have a notion, entre nous, of making another experiment of 
the public taste, this summer ; for I shall be driven from this 
place, for a summer or two, by the yellow fever, and I had better 
be doing anything than to be idle. I shall sometimes get tired of 
reading, and composition will then diversify my employments very 
agreeably. What say you } My friend Tazewell, here, does not 

VOL. 1—11 



122 THE BRITISH SPY. [1803—1804. 

approve of such engagements. He says that it gives a man a 
light and idle appearance, in the eye of the world, and might, 
therefore, injure me in my profession. If you concur in this 
opinion, I shall renounce the project ; otherwise, I shall incline to 
make another exhibition, — but of what nature I have not yet deter- 
mined. Certainly I shall write no more Spies ; " too much 
pudding," &c. 

I have been reading, Johnson's Lives of poets and famous men, 
till I have contracted an itch for biography ; do not be astonished 
therefore, if you see me come out, with a very material and 
splendid life of some departed Virginian worthy, — for I meddle no 
more with the living. Virginia has lost some great men, whose 
names ought not to perish. If I were a Plutarch, I would collect 
their lives for the honor of the State and the advantage of 
posterity. 

George Tucker, of Richmond, wrote the Enquirer.* 1 concur 
with you in the opinion that he has the advantage of the Spy. 
He had a more intimate acquaintance with the subject ; his style 
is more chaste and equal, and his compositions have much more 
of the philosopher and author. 

Let me tell you that the Spy never read a page in Buffon in his 
life, nor knew any more of his theory than what he one day heard 
Charles Meriwether mention, in a very short conversation. Of 
the Abbe Raynal's' West Indies, he once read a few pages, as he 
rode from Albemarle to Orange court. This was all the acquired 
information that he had on the subject, — so that the match was 
very unequal. 

The speculation in the second letter was a mere crude adven- 
ture, leading to some singular and whimsical consequences, and it 
was tliought likely, therefore, to please by its novelty ; but the 
calculation was a false one, — for, unphilosophical as it was, it was 
too philosophical for newspaper readers. It was, therefore, no 
favorite, and rather sunk the character of the Spy than raised it. 
* * * * * * 

The Spy did write, as you were informed, the pieces signed 
Martinus Scriblerus; they were partly in imitation of Pope and 

* Some articles under this signature were published in the papers, at Richmorjd, 
during the publication of the Spy. They were designed to controvert some of the 
geological arguments presented in that work. 



CHAP. IX.] AN OLD FRIEND. 123 

Co's criticisms imputed to their hero of the same name. The 
originals, of which you say you would demand tlie sight, were sent 
to the press ; nor is there any vestige of them, either printed or 
W'ritten, in possession of the Spy. 'Tis no matter, they answered 
their purpose of amusing for the moment, and now let them rest in 

peace. 

******* 

I hear very often, that you are growing fast in your profession. 
How would it glad my heart to live till you touch the acme of 
forensic glory, to touch it with you, too, — and, as Peachy would 
add, hang with you there — like two thieves under a gallows. How 
is that vagabond P. coming forward.'' Does he erect his chest in the 
front bar.' Does he spout and thunder like the cataract of Niagara, 
or does he roar them, " an it were any sucking dove.-"' If he does 
not do all these things by turns, I disinherit and anathematise him 
from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. 1 owe the 
rascal a letter or two, and I will pay him shortly, making up in 
quantity, what I want in number and quality. In the meantime 
give my love to him. 

Heaven bless and preserve you. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER X. 

1804 — 5. 

SUCCESS AT NORFOLK PROJFXT OF A BIOGRAPHfCAL WORK. — PATRICK 

HENRY ST. GEORGE TUCKER. — LETTER TO THIS GENTLEMAN THE 

RAINBOW. — LETTER TO EDWARDS. 

From tlie date of his establishment in Norfolk in the winter of 
1803-4, we may compute Wirt's rapid advance to eminence 
in his profession. He was here brought into a new sphere of 
legal study. The commercial and maritime law, to which he was 
in a great degree a stranger, now became the familiar subjects of 
his attention. As we have seen in the letters written at this period, 
he was totally unused to the topics, manners, w^ants and concerns 
which predominate in the society, and especially in the business 
circles, of an active trading seaport. To master the first difficul- 
ties of such a position, and to win the reputation which his 
ambition coveted, exacted from him great labor and study. He 
had friends around him to cheer his hopes and stimulate his efforts 
to the task ; but these friends were also the competitors of his 
forensic struggles, men of established renown, and justly reputed 
for brilliant talents as well as professional accomplishment ; and 
it may be regarded as no doubtful praise of the new associate in 
this fraternity, to say that he speedily earned and sustained, in the 
public estimation, a fair and acknowledged title to a place on the 
same platform which they occupied. 

Whatever may be said to the disadvantage of the law as a pro- 
fession ; notwithstanding all that is truly and untruly imputed to it, 
in the way of derogation, by popular satire and by vulgar jest, it 
is characterized by one condition, in which it has the advantage 
of nearly all other business pursuits ; that eminence in it is always 
a test of talent and acquirement. Whilst in other professions, 
quackery and imposition may often succeed to elevate the pro- 
fessor in popular esteem, the lawyer gains no foothold at the bar, 
nor with the public, which he has not fairly won. A grave and 



CHAP. X] SUCCESS AT NORFOLK. 125 

austere bench is a perilous foe to the make-believe trickery of an 
unprepared or ignorant advocate : the surrounding bar, too, is not 
to be put off with sham seemings contrived as a substitute for 
skill. The first is characteristically noted for its impatience under 
the inflictions of those who bring less learning than pretension 
to their task ; and the last is quite as much signalized for the 
comic relish Avith which it hunts such game into its coverts. 
Forensic life is, in great part, life in the noon-day, in presence of 
sharp-sighted observers and not the most indulgent of critics. It 
has always two sides, whereof one is a sentinel upon the other; 
and a blunder, a slip or a slovenly neglect of the matter in hand, 
never escapes without its proper comment. Dulness is sure to be 
stamped or patented with such sufficient publication, as to go ever 
unquestioned upon its settled and intrinsic demerit. The line 
between good fellowship and professional standing is so broadly 
drawn that one never interferes with the other. The best social 
quality in the world affords no help to the lack of skill before 
court or jury. Each stands on its own foundation, detached and 
independent ; so that a man may be the worst pleader and advo- 
cate, and the most beloved of social friends at the bar, winning all 
private esteem, but finding no cover or concealment for his profes- 
sional raggedness. The public opinion of the merits of a lawyer, 
is but the winnowed and sifted judgment which reaches the world 
through the bar, and is, therefore, made up after severe ordeal and 
upon standard proof 

The success of the British Spy, which had now reached per- 
haps a third or fourth edition, and the reputation which it brought 
the author, were too flattering to allow him to abandon the path 
of literature, even under all the provocations to do so which the 
engrossment of his profession supplied. No man ever wrote a 
successful book without contemplating another. The frequent 
echo of one's name as a popular author, and the agreeable fillip to 
personal vanity which is given by the notice of the press, magni- 
fying into matter of public importance the conceits of one's brain 
and rendering his thoughts a commodity in the market — these things 
are not unrelished or forgotten by the modest craft, — but straight- 
way set the wits again at work to redouble the echo and its ac- 
companiments. In the letters of the Spy, the sketches of personal 
character connected with the notice of distinguished living persons, 

VOL. 1 — 11* 



126 LIFE OF PATRICK HENRY. [1S04-1805. 



had formed one of the most popular attractions of the book, and 
the autlior was said to have been very happy in these delineations. 
Whilst many admired the portraits, others, as we have seen, were 
offended by them; and in the collision of opinion between these 
two classes of readers, it was very evident that the 'popularity of 
the book was much promoted. His success in these sketches, 
most probably, turned his thoughts towards a plan which he now 
meditated of writing the history of the eminent men of Virginia. 
Many of those, most distinguished amongst the soldiers and ci- 
vilians of the Revolution, were as yet unchronicled upon any page 
adapted to preserve the distinct record of their deeds. The time 
seemed to be favorable to the performance of this duty. To say 
nothing of Washington,— whose history, as more properly be- 
longing to the nation, was perhaps not included in this scheme, — 
Patrick Henry, Edmund Pendleton, Richard Henry Lee, and many 
others, whose names have shed lustre upon the State, were, at 
this date, numbered with the dead; but the incidents of .their lives 
were fresh in the public memory, and capable of being authenti- 
cated by sure testimony. An equitable public judgment, undis- 
turbed by the prejudices which surround living men, might be ex- 
pected to await the perusal of their biographies and to do justice 
to their fame. Neither too soon for this judgment, nor too late to 
collect the veritable materials for the work, this was the proper 
time to essay the task of a faithful portraiture. It belonged to 
this generation; and Wirt supposed he might assume the per- 
formance of this duty, with some certainty of its favorable accep- 
tance by the public, as the oflering of one who had already estab- 
lished his title to their good opinion by what he had written. 
It would have been both a grateful and a graceful tribute from an 
adopted son of the State, who had been honored by so many 
proofs of the cordial esteem and substantial friendship of the com- 
munity in which he lived. 

In the partial accomplishment of his purpose he directed his 
first attention to Patrick Henry. It is to this endeavor we owe the 
publication of the biography which we shall hereafter have oc- 
casion to notice. The fulfilment of the entire original design was 
interrupted by the engagements of professional life, and the biog- 
raphy of Henry is, consequently, all that was achieved of a scheme 
which embraced a wide field of various and useful research. 



CHAP. X.] ST. GEORGE TUCKER. 127 

Amongst the most cherished of Wirt's associates, at this time, 
was St. George Tucker, then the President Judge of the Court of 
Appeals of Virginia. This gentleman, whose fame is most honor- 
ably associated with the national jurisprudence, had held the post 
of Professor of Law, at William and Mary, where Wirt, during 
his residence at Williamsburg, with other members of the bar, 
was an occasional attendant upon his lectures. The Judge was 
distinguished for his scholastic acquirements, his taste and wit, and 
was greatly endeared to the society of his friends, by a warm- 
hearted, impulsive nature which gave a peculiar strength to his 
attachments. Though some ten years the senior of Wirt, the in- 
tercourse between them was that of the most familiar friendship, 
and was enlivened by a frequent interchange of those sallies of 
humor and good fellowship which belong to the intimacies of men 
of equal age and kindred tastes.* 

The following letter illustrates this intimacy, whilst it touches 
upon the subject of the contemplated biographies. The allusion 
to " The Rainbow " requires an explanation. 

In the year 1804, Wirt had associated with a few friends in a 
scheme to publish a series of familiar didatic essays under the title 
of The Rainbow. This scheme was no farther carried into effect 
than the publication of ten numbers in the Richmond Enquirer, 
between August and October of that year, when it was abandoned. 
These essays were subsequently collected into a thin octavo, and 
in that guise, seem to have fallen into oblivion. So far as Wirt 
participated in them, they appear to have been rather the prac- 
tisings of an artist pursuing his studies, than a work he would 
choose to acknowledge as the product of his mature labor. 

• The Judge was a native of Bermuda. Having emigrated to Virginia in his 
youth, he completed his education at William and Mary College. He entered the 
Judiciary of the State as a Judge of the General Court, and vras promoted to the 
Court of Appeals, of which he became the President. Resigning this post in 1811, 
he was soon afterwards brought into the Federal Judiciary, as a Judge of the 
United States District Court in Eastern Virginia, which appointment he held until 
his death. 



128 LETTER TO JUDGE TUCKER. [1804—1805. 



TO JUDGE TUCKER. 

Norfolk, January 31, 1805. 
Dear Sir : 

I have never, until now, had it in my power to acknowledge 
your favor of the 23d instant. It is full to the purpose of my 
request, and I thank you for it most sincerely and cordially. 

As you seem to think there are reasons why it should not be 
shown, I promise you that it shall not ; yet you " kiss the rod " 
with so much humility and devotion, that I cannot think their high 
mightinesses themselves, would be otherwise than gratified by its 
perusal. 

I am somewhat relieved by your inquiry, whether received 
the letter and packet by Mrs. Banister, for, be it known to you, 
in two or three days after I did receive that comniHnication, I 
had read all the pamphlets but one, and while my mind was yet 
warm with the gratification which I had derived from them, I sat 
down and wrote you a very long letter, and a very free one, — so 
very free, that from my hearing no more from you, in reply to one 
or two little requests which it contained, I was afraid that I might 
have been too unceremonious with you. I was hesitating whether 
I should not sit down and deprecate your wrath ; but as olfences 
proceed only from the heart, and as none, I was very sure, had 
proceeded from mine, I thought it syllogistically demonstrable that 
no offence had been given. And yet that you should not, in so 
long a time, say one syllable in reply to a proposition connected 
with literature, was so irreconcilable with your politeness, your 
goodness, and your passion for letters, that I began to suspect I 
had satisfied myself with a sophism instead of a demonstration on 
the subject of offences ; and, though my syllogism might prove 
that no offence had been given, yet it did not prove that none had 
been taken; and so " note the difference," — for what is taken, is not 
always given, or else Hounslow heath and the Louvre would be 
less distinguished than they are. Yet, taking offence is so different 
a thing from taking a purse or a Venus de Medicis, the prize and 
the gratification so infinitely inferior, that I cannot believe there is 
much illustration, conviction or wit in the parallel, and so — adieu 
to it. 



CHAP. X.] MATERIALS FOR A LIFE OF HENRY. 129 

But to my letter. It contained a very grateful and sincere ac- 
knowledgment for your interesting present by Mrs. B ; a 

declaration of the pleasure and information which I had derived 
from the perusal of the pamphlets, particularly that in relation to 
Louisiana, an expression of my surprise that the public should dis- 
cover such a gusto for the froth, and frippery, and harlotry of 
some compositions, while they neglected the clear and masculine 
views which you invariably give of your subjects. 

****** 

My letter proceeded to condemn the modesty with which you 
had spoken of Williamsburg, in one of your letters to that sinner 
Morse, and insisted that much more might have been said, and 
truly said, of the natural and adventitious beauties of the scene, 
the science, elegance, harmony and affection of the society. It 
went on to congratulate you and Judge Nelson, (and there was a 
spice of envy in the congratulation,) on the Arcadian times which 
you were enjoying, and to express my suspicion that, between 
two such ardent and importunate wooers, their ladyships, the 
muses, had very little time for sleep. 

It referred to an anecdote which I heard Judge Nelson tell of 
Patrick Henry's fondness for Livy, and begged the favor of you 
to prevail for me, with his honor, to give me that anecdote circum- 
stantially and critically. 

It begged another favor of you ; and that was, as you had fre- 
quently heard P. H., I had no doubt, in conversation and debate, 
judicial and political, to do me the kindness, at some moment of per- 
fect ease and leisure, to sketch, as minutely as you could, even to 
the color of his eyes, a portrait of his person, attitudes, gestures, 
manners ; a description of his voice, its tone, energy, and modu- 
lations; his delivery, whether slow, grave and solemn, or rapid, 
sprigbtly and animated ; his pronunciation, whether studiously 
plain, homely, and sometimes vulgar, or accurate, courtly and 
ornate, — with an analysis of his mind, the variety, order and pre- 
dominance of its powers ; his information as a lawyer, a politi- 
cian, a scholar; the peculiar character of his eloquence, &c., &c., 
for I never saw him. These minutiae, which constitute the most 
interesting part of biography, are not to be learnt from any 
archives or records, or any other source than the minute and 
accurate details of a very uncommon observer. 



130 BIOGRAPHICAL WRITING. [1804—1805. 

In the same letter, I took the liberty of attempting to revive and 
enforce your half dormant resolution of furnishing an essay for 
" The Rainbow," on the subject of Biography ; and of combating 
your idea of declining that essay because I had turned my thoughts 
towards biography. For, if the objects of your essay would be to 
shew the importance and utility of biographical publications, and 
to point out the duties of the biographer, it would be so far from 
liostile that it would be auxiliary to my scheme ; as it would give 
the public a preparatory relish for that kind of writing, and instruct 
me how to serve up the feast to tlie best advantage. If, instead of 
being didactic, the essay was intended to be, itself, a biographical 
sketch, yet the limits prescribed for an essay would merely enable 
you to excite, without sating the public curiosity, and would there- 
fore be a good preparation for a more expanded narrative. If, 
again, you proposed to pursue this subject through a series of 
essays, so as to constitute, in the whole, the expanded narrative of 
which I speak, then the great objects at which I aimed (those of 
preserving the memory of our illustrious men, and of perpetuating 
to Virginia the honor of having given them birth,) would be com- 
pletely gained by those essays. I wish, indeed, that you would 
take this task ofi" of my hands. I fear much that it will be out of 
my power to perform it. I find so much writing to do in my pro- 
fession, so much interruption from clients who ask counsel that 
sometimes forces me on a close and unremitting investigation for sev- 
eral days, so much preparation for argument, &c., &c., that I have 
scarcely time to exchange a word with my family day or night. 

It must, at all events, be a considerable time before I could 
accomplish the work as I would; whereas you have all the long 
intervals between the sessions at your command ; could do the 
business at your ease ; could make an amusement of it to yourself; 
and from your personal acquaintance with the heroes of the work, 
as well as from other causes which are too obvious to particular- 
ize, could render it infinitely more valuable and interesting to the 
public, than all the leisure in the world would enable me to do. 

I wish you would think seriously of this proposal. I am trying 
to collect materials for this work, which I will most gladly com- 
municate when I receive them. Nay, more ; if you think proper, 
your name shall be kept out of the public view, and they may name 
me, without contradiction, as the author (for there are too many 



CHAP. X.] A PROPOSAL. 131 



persons who have, by some means or other, got wuid of my project 
to suppose that it may not, at first, be imputed to me.) And when 
their applauses become loud, general and confirmed, I will make a 
public disclaimer. If, by any fatality, they should not applaud, 1 
hereby promise you that I never will disclaim. There is not much 
heroism in the offer, — for I know, with almost absolute certainty, 
that the result would be propitious. If it should, or should not, 
you will at least have an opportunity of seeing and hearing a fair 
estimate of your pen, free from the weight which it would derive 
from the name of the Honorable St. George Tucker, one of the 
Judges of the Supreme Court of Appeals of Virginia. 

I hope there is nothing improper in the proposal of this experi- 
ment. On my part it is, in a very great measure, the creature of 
curiosity. You say your works have been still-born ; no solution 
of this can be found in the works themselves, and I wish much to 
see if there be any fatality attached to names. If the proposal be, 
in any point of view, improper, I beg you to excuse it, and to be 
assured that there is nothing in the motives of the proposal which 
should excite your displeasure. 

****** 
Yours most obsequiously, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next is to Benjamin Edwards, then a resident of Kentucky. 
We have already seen the kindly interest which this excellent 
gentleman manifested in the early fortunes of the subject of this 
memoir, in taking him to his own house in Maryland, and in the 
parental solicitude with which he protected and guided the youth- 
ful student at a period when such friendly offices were above all 
price. 

Seventeen years had elapsed since that day. But it will be seen, 
from this letter that the time gone by had not blunted the edge of 
the student's gratitude, nor dimmed his ardent affection towards 
his worthy patron. Mr. Edwards had, during the interval between 
the date of this correspondence and the departure of his protege 
from beneath his roof, removed with his family to Kentucky, and 
was now a prosperous landholder in that state, surrounded by a 
thriving family, and happy in the contemplation of the present and 
prospective good fortune which enlivened the evening of his life. 



132 LETTER TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. [1804—1806. 



The interest which Mr. Edwards took in the career of his 
friend, and the affection with which it was reciprocated, was 
shown in a frequent correspondence between them ever since the 
period of their separation. The following letter was called forth 
by the disappointment which Mr. Edwards had recently expressed, 
upon the change of purpose in regard to Wirt's scheme of migra- 
tion to Kentucky. It has reference to some matters of personal 
history which may be acceptable to the reader : and it dwells 
with an honest warmth of grateful recollection upon the topics 
of family endearment, the household associations, the incidents 
and characteristics which made Mount Pleasant a precious picture 
on the memory of the writer. We shall not fail to remark in the 
perusal of this letter how agreeably it impresses us with the 
benignity of the good man to whom it is addressed, the simplicity 
of his life, and the patriarchal character of his relation to those 
around him ; and how much there is in the writer of filial duty 
and reverence. 



TO BENJAMIN EDW^ARDS. 

Norfolk, March 17, 1805. 

I cannot describe to you, my dear Mr. Edwards, the sensations 
with which I have just read your most welcome and obliging letter 
of the 17th ult., from Shiloh. I need not be ashamed to tell you 
that my tears bore witness to the sincerity and force of my feel- 
ings. You have taught me to love you like a parent. Well 
indeed may I do so; since to you, to the influence of your conver- 
sation, your precepts and your example in the most critical and 
decisive period of my life, I owe, whatever, of useful or good there 
may be in the bias of my mind and character. Continue then, I 
implore you, to think of me as a son, and teach your children to 
regard me as a brother : they shall find me one, indeed, if the 
wonder working dispensations of Providence should ever place 
them in want of a brother's arm, or mind, or bosom. 

You could not more strongly have expected my wife and me to 
partake of your Christmas turkey in 1803, than we ourselves ex- 
pected it when I wrote you last. I was sensible that I owed you 
and my friend Ninian an apology, or rather an explanation of the 



CHAP. X.] OBJECTIONS TO KENTUCKY. 133 

abrupt change of my plan in relation to Kentucky, and this expla- 
nation would have been certainly made at the proper time, but for 
a point of delicacy arising from the nature of the explanation 
itself. But now that the project is over and, with you, I fear for- 
ever, I may explain to you without reserve. 

The first obstacle which I had to encounter arose from the dif- 
ficulty of compassing so much cash as would enable me to make 
my debut sufiiciently respectable. To have disclosed this ob- 
stacle either to you or Ninian, after the strong desire which I had 
manifested to migrate to your state, might have been liable to an 
interpretation, which, either from true or false pride, I chose to 
avoid. As I could not state to you this primary obstacle, I thought 
it would be disingenuous to amuse you with an account of merely 
subordinate ones ; but now you shall know the whole truth. My 
wife, who was thoroughly convinced of the propriety of our 
removal to Kentucky, had consented to it, from the dictates of 
reason and judgment, whilst her heart and affections secretly re- 
volted against the measure. Most dutifully and delicately, how- 
ever, she concealed her repugnance from me, and I should never 
have known it, but for an accident. Waking one night, at mid- 
night, while this journey was contemplated, I found her in tears; 
and, after much importunity, drew from her an acknowledgment, that 
her distress proceeded from the idea of such a distant and most 
probably final separation from her parents and family. 

I will not affect to deny that I believe this discovery and the 
manner of it, would have been decisive with me against the re- 
moval, even if the first objection had not existed. Fortune and 
fame are, indeed, considerations of great weight with me; but they 
are light, compared with the happiness of the best of wives. 
About the time of this discovery, and while the current of my own 
inclinations had been thus checked and brought to an eddy, a 
young gentleman (a son of the late Judge Tazewell) who was at 
the head of the practice in this part of the state, very generously 
and disinterestedly waited on me at Williamsburg, opposed my 
removal by every argument that friendsliip or ingenuity could 
suggest, offered to recede, in my favor, from several of his most 
productive courts, painted the progressive prosperity of Norfolk 
in colors, so strong and alluring, and exhibited such irresistible 
evidence of the present profits of the practice in this borough and 
VOL. 1—12 



134 PROFESSIONAL HOPES. [1804—1906. 



district, that my mind was left in equipoise between Kentucky and 
Norfolk. 

At this critical juncture came a letter from you, in which you 
very amicably exhorted me against the indulgence of a too sanguine 
imagination in regard to Kentucky. You stated that the specie 
liad almost disappeared from the state, owing to the occlusion of 
Orleans, by the Spanish Intendant against your deposites — an in- 
convenience whose duration it was impossible to calculate, and 
represented that the gentlemen of my profession, like the other 
inhabitants of the state, carried on their business by barter, re- 
ceiving their fees in negroes, horses, &c. Under the joint action 
of all these obstacles, dilRculties, considerations and motives of 
policy and expedience, 1 was led to the adoption of the resolution 
which brought me here. And so here I am, abreast with the van 
of the profession in this quarter, Avith the brightest hopes and pros- 
pects; duping the people by a most Jenkinsonian exterior, using 
" words of learned length and thundering sound," puffed by the 
newspapers as an orator, to which I have no pretensions, and 
honored and applauded far beyond my deserts. It is only for the 
humiliation with which I see and hear what is written and said in 
my praise, that I give myself any credit. I have formed in my 
own imagination a model of professional greatness which I am far, 
very far, below, but to which I will never cease to aspire. It is 
to this model that I compare myself, whenever the world applauds, 
and the comparison humbles me to the dust. If ever I should rise 
to this imaginary prototype, 1 shall rest in peace. — Herculean en- 
terprise ! But 1 must not despair, since it is only by aiming at per- 
fection that a man can attain his highest practicable point. 

If a fortune is to be made by the profession in this country, 1 
believe I shall do it. It must require, however, fifteen or twenty 
years to ertect this. Norfolk, as you guess, is very expensive. 1 
keep, for instance, a pair of horses here, which cost me eight 
pounds per month. Wood is from four to eight dollars per cord; 
Indian meal through the winter nine shillings per bushel, — this sum- 
mer it is supposed it will be fifteen; (lour eleven and twelve dollars 
})er barrel, a leg of mutton three dollars, butter three shillings per 
])ound, eggs two shillings and three pence per dozen, and so on. 
Having set out, however, with the view of making a provision for 
my family, in the event of my being called away from them, I live 



CHAP. X.] EXPECTATIONS FROM HIS PROFESSION. 135 



as economically as I can, so as to avoid giving my wife any reason 
for resrret at the recollection of her father's house and table. 
After this year, I hope it will be in my power to nett annually 
two thousand dollars, by the practice, — but I do not expect ever to 
do more than this. I shall be content to leave the bar whenever 
my capital will nett me an annual revenue of four thousand dollars, 
and not till then. 

I am indeed sometimes very apprehensive that the yellow fever, 
which you mention, may cut this operation short, by removing me 
from this scene of things ; or protract it, by driving me from my 
business into annual exile, as was the case last summer and fall. 
If I find this latter event likely to take place, I shall certainly use 
all my influence with my wife to reconcile her to Kentucky ; for 
even now, I will not conceal it from you, propitious as is the face 
of my affairs, your letter makes me sigh at the thought of your 
state. It is not, however, the idea of being " a comet in a naked 
horizon," which I long to realize. I have seen too many luminaries, 
infinitely my superiors in magnitude and splendor, to believe 
myself a comet; nor can I believe that horizon naked which is 
adorned and lighted up with a Breckenridge, a Brown, a Maury 
and N. Edwards. Besides, if I were ambitious, and it were true 
that this part of the hemisphere were gilded with the brightest 
stars, I should, for that reason, choose this part. A glow-worm 
would be distinguished amid total darkness. But, it requires a 
sun, indeed, to eclipse the starry firmament. No, sir. It is the 
Green River land which makes me sigh ; the idea of being re- 
leased from the toils of my profession by independence, in six 
or eight years, and of pursuing it afterwards at my ease, and 
only on great occasions, and for great fees ; of having it in my 
power to indulge myself in the cultivation of general science ; 
of luxuriating in literary amusements, and seeking literary emi- 
nence. Those are the objects which I have been accustomed 
to look to, as the most desirable companions in the meridian 
of life, and six or eight years more would just bring me to that 
age at which Parson Hunt and his son William used to predict, in 
moments of displeasure and reproof, that I should begin to be a 
man, — viz. at forty. It is because your letter holds out probabil- 
ities like these, that I sigh. For I know that by the practice of 
this country, independence, by my profession, is a great way off. 



136 FAMILY AFFAIRS. [1804—1805. 

How much it would delight me to live once more within eye 
and earshot of you. To he ahle to talk over with you the afiairs 
of Mount Pleasant, and of my youth ; to hear your raillery and 
your laugh ; these arc things that I could think of until I should 
be quite unmanned : — but enough. My wife has given me two 
children in little more than two years. We were married on the 
7th September, 1802, and on the 3d September, 1803, she gave 
me a daughter, now a lovely child, going on nineteen months old, 
and with the romantic name of Laura Henrietta, the first the fa- 
vorite of Petrarch, the last the christian name of my mother. On 
the 31st day of last January she gave me a son, who is certainly 
a very handsome child, and if there be any truth in physiognomy, 
a fellow whose native sheet of intellectual paper, is of as fine a 
texture and as lustrous a white, as the fond heart even of a parent 
can desire. My fancy is already beginning to build for him some 
of those airy tenements, in the erection of which, my youth has 
been wasted. My wife wants to call this boy Robert Gamble, 
and as this is a matter altogether within the lady's department, I 
shall give way. She was just twenty-one the 30th day of last 
January, and I was thirty-two the 8th day of last November, so 
I hope we may reach my wished for number of twelve, and be 
almost as patriarchal, by and by, as yourself 

How much you gratify me by the circumstantial description of 
your children — their prosperity now, and tiieir hopeful prospects ! 
May all your wishes in regard to them be fulfilled ! I hope and 
pray so from my inmost soul. I have a kind of dim presage that 
I shall yet be in Kentucky, time enough for your Benjamin Frank- 
lin, if not for Cyrus. Heaven send I may ever have it in my 
power to be of any use to either of your children ! Pray, re- 
member me to them all, with the regard of a brother, and 
present me to Mrs. Edwards, with the respect and dutiful af- 
fection of a son. Shall 1 ever see you again, in the midst of 
them on your farm, disengaged from all care, and happy as you 
deserve to be .? You cannot think with what tenderness my 
memory dwells on Mount Pleasant and the neighborhood. I 
remember, indeed, very many follies to blush at and be ashamed 
of, yet still it is one of those " sunny spots" in the course of my 
life, in which recollection dearly loves to bask. Let me be free 
with you, for you used to make me so. To this day, the image of 



CHAP. X.] OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 137 

B. S , is as fresh in my mind, as if she had just left Mount 

Pleasant, on Sunday evening, on the bay mare, and my eyes had 
followed licr through the gate, and as far around as she was 
visible, on her way home. And the investigation which you once 

made of the difference between K 's passion for her and mine, 

is just as vivid as if it had passed on yesterday. By-the-bye, 

you have not said a word of my friend K , and as I take a 

very strong interest in his welfare, let me hear of him when you 
write next. 

I thank you very much for your mention of several of my old 
acquaintances. Among them all. Jack Wallace (if he is the son of 
James) is my favorite. Nature, indeed, had not taken much pains 
in the cast of his genius, but she gave him one of the sweetest 
tempers, and one of the finest and noblest hearts that ever warmed 
a human breast. 

Maj. W , I presume, is my schoolmate, William, who 

used to live at Montgomery court-house. When we w^ere at 
school together, about the year 1785, he was thought one of the 
world's wonders, or rather, a new wonder, in point of genius. 
Where is the hopeful promise of his youth .'' Smothered under 
the leaden atmosphere of indolence ? Or has it faded, like the 
first flower of the spring, to bud and bloom no more ? 
* # * # # * 

Of Q. M , I only remember that he was a large faced, well 

grown boy, who learnt the Latin grammar until he came to 
penna-a-pen, where he stuck fast, and his father took him away 
in despair. But it is possible that 1 may be mistaken, and am con- 
founding him with some other boy. One other thing I am sure of, 

that he had a very pretty sister, whose name was L , with 

whom I was very much in love one whole night, at an exhibition 

ball in the neighborhood of Parson Hunt's. E. M , I do not 

remember at all. I could not have been acquainted with him, nor 

I think, with M. L . I well remember the family of the latter, 

who lived on a hill, near a mill pond of Samuel W. Magruder's. 
There were five or six of us, of the family of Magruder, who, 
after bathing of a Sunday in the pond, used to go up and see a 
sister of Matthew's, whose name was Betsey, (a name always fatal 
to me.) I was then about twelve years old, and I remember that 
for one whole summer, that girl disturbed my peace considerably. 
VOL. 1—12* 



138 THE BRITISH SPY. [1804—1805. 



The sex, I believe, never had an earlier or more fervent votary ; 
but it was all light work till I came to B. S . To this mo- 
ment I think kindly of her, even in the grave. 

******* 
I have used already a good deal of egotism in this letter : but it 
is unavoidable in letters between friends, and it certainly is not 
desirable to avoid it between friends so far sundered as we are, 
who are obliged to resort to letters as a substitute for conversa- 
tion. For my own part, I sat down with a determination to write 
just as I would talk with you, in order that I might approach as 
near as possible to the enjoyment of your company, and, as I 
should certainly have talked a great deal of levity and nonsense, 
so have I written, and so I shall still write, although I know that 
I am taxing you with a heavy postage. 

But to myself again. I find you have read the British Spy, and, 
from your allusion to it, I presume you have understood me to be 
the author. It is true. 1 wrote those letters to while away six 
anxious weeks which preceded the birth of my daughter. In one 
respect they were imprudent. They inflicted wounds which I 
did not intend. 

******* 
In the esteem of a penetrating and learned man, the British Spy 
would injure me, because it would lead him to believe my mind 
light and superficial; but its effect on the body of the people here, 
(on W'hom I depend for my fortune,) has, I believe, been very 
advantageous. It was bought up wnth great avidity ; a second 
edition called for and bought up ; and the editor, when I saw him 
last, talked of striking a third edition. It has been the means of 
making me extensively known, and known to my advantage, 
except, perhaps, with such men as Jefferson and Jay, whose just 
minds readily ascertain the difierence between bullion and chaff. 
******* 
The title of this fiction was adopted for concealment, that 
thereby I might have an opportunity of hearing myself criticised 
without restraint. But I was surprised to find myself known after 
the third letter appeared. Having once adopted the character of 
an Englishman, it was necessary to support that character through- 
out, by expressing only British sentiments ; yet, there were some 



CHAP. X] AN IMPUTATION. 139 



men, weak enough, in this state, to suspect, from this single cause, 
that I had apostatized from the republican faith. The suspicion 
however, is now pretty well over. 

******* 
I am your friend, and 

Your son by election, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XI. 



1805—1806. 



INCREASING EEPUTATION.— DISLIKE OF CRIMINAL TRIALS— MEDITATES A 
RETURN TO RICHMOND AN OLD FASHIONED WEDDING AT WILLIAMS- 
BURG LETTERS A DISTASTE FOR POLITICAL LIFE. 

Mr. Wirt continued to reside in Norfolk until July, 1806. 
His life here was one of close application to business, and his 
professional career was characterised by its rapid and steady 
progress upward towards the attainment of reputation, influence, 
and independence. He practised largely through the district, 
extending his attendance upon the courts as far as Williamsburg 
and into the counties adjacent to Norfolk. He was already 
accounted one of the most eloquent advocates in the state, and was 
growing fast to be considered one of the ablest of her lawyers. 
His renown as an advocate brought him into almost every criminal 
trial of note within the circuit of his practice, and overburdened 
him with a species of business sufficiently disgusting in its best 
phase, but which, in its varied demands upon a man in whom the 
mere pride of eloquent speech has not deadened the sensibility 
of his heart to what is good and bad, cannot but grow to be 
inexpressibly irksome and offensive. 

" I am becoming ill at ease," he writes to Mrs. Wirt, from Wil- 
liamsburg, during this period, " at this long absence from you 
and my children. * * I look to you as a refuge from care and 
toil. It is this anticipation only which enables me to sustain the 
pressure of employments so uncongenial with my spirit : this 
indiscriminate defence of right and wrong — this zealous advoca- 
tion of causes at which my soul revolts — this playing of the nurse 
to villains, and occupying myself continually in cleansing them — 
it is sickening, even to death. But the time will come when I 
hope it will be unnecessary." 

He began to long for the privilege of an exclusive devotion of 
his time to that higher range of practice which, dealing with the 



CHAP. XI.] MEDITATES A RETURN TO RICHMOND, 141 



more complicated affairs of society, gives occasion for the employ- 
ment of the subtlest powers of intellect, in the study and develoj)- 
ment of the great principles of right. In this sphere of forensic 
life, as distinguished from that which is properly assigned to the 
advocate, is only to be achieved that best renown which has 
followed the names of the greatest lawyers. It exacts not only 
the cultivation of the highest order of eloquence, but the study 
also of the noblest topics of human research, in the nice questions 
of jurisprudence and ethics, and finds its most powerful auxilia- 
ries in the learning that belongs to the history and philosophy of 
man. Popular advocacy, on the other hand, whilst it allures its 
votary into a path made vocal with the applause of the multitude, 
seduces his mind from its love of truth, teaches him to disparage 
the wealth of the best learning, and to account the triumph won 
in the open amphitheatre in the presence of the crowd, as more 
precious than all the gems which are turned up in the silent 
delvings of the student patiently toiling with no companion but 
his lamp. 

In the hope of soon obtaining that position at the bar which 
should enable him to realize these longings of his heart, Wirt 
labored, with cheerful submission to the present necessity which 
compelled him to obey whatever call his profession made upon 
him. He looked anxiously for the day of his return to Rich- 
mond, resolved that that period should not be long postponed. 
The usual unhealthiness of Norfolk during the autumn, which was 
occasionally aggravated by the appearance of the yellow fever, 
forced him to remove his family during the warm season, to 
Richmond, or still further towards the mountains, whilst he him- 
self was obliged to remain in the borough, or make his circuits 
into the neighboring counties. These separations from his house- 
hold disquieted him. Passionately attached to his wife and chil- 
dren, it was ever the engrossing subject of his thoughts to push 
his professional success to the point which would allow him to 
remain at home, — and that home, as he hoped, in Richmond. 

" I amuse myself," he says in the same letter I have last quo- 
ted, " in planning fairy visions of futurity. I imagine that we have 
laid by money enough to build a house in Richmond — that we are 
living there, and I practising in the Superior Courts, in the van of 



142 ASPIRATIONS. [1805— 1S06. 

the profession, making my a year without once leaving the 

town." 

May 10th, 1805, he writes to Mrs. W.,— " We will go to Rich- 
mond to liv^e as soon as prudence will permit. But Norfolk is the 
ladder by which Ave are to climb the hills of Richmond advan- 
tageously. — Norfolk is the cradle of our fortune." 

Whilst turning over many letters written during this year to 
Mrs. Wirt, from which I make but meagre extracts — the follow- 
ing passage occurs, which speaks an earnest and most character- 
istic aspiration of the writer. 

* * * * * "I have been 
interrupted by Judge Prentiss who came into my room to look 
at the miniature of Patrick Henry, which has been sent to me 
by Judge AVinston, and to read a very interesting narrative of 
P. H. by the same gentleman. Mr. Winston's story is a hun- 
dred times better told than either or 's. The pro- 
ject pleases me more and more, and I hope to be enabled to im- 
mortalize the memory of Henry and to do no discredit to my own 
fame. The idea has been always very dismal to me, of dropping 
into the grave like a stone into the water, and letting the waves of 
Time close over me, so as to leave no trace of the spot on which 
I fall. For this reason, at a very early period of my youth, I re- 
solved to profit by the words of Sallust, who advises, that if a man 
wishes his memory to live forever on the earth, he must either 
write something worthy of being always read, or do something 
worthy of being written and immortalized by history. Perhaps it 
is no small degree of vanity to think myself capable of either; — 
but I have been always taught to consider the passion for fame as 
not only innocent, but laudable and even noble. I mean that kind 
of fame which follows virtuous and useful actions," 
^ In the same correspondence I find a letter from which I take a 
description of a wedding at Williamsburg, in April, 1806. It is 
worth preserving as a sketch of manners and customs in the Old 
Dominion at that date : 

* * * "I went last night to Miss P 's 

wedding. The crowd Avas great, the room warm, the spirit of 
dancing was upon them, and the area so small that a man could not 
lift a foot without the hazard of setting it down upon a neighbor's. 
But then, by way of balancing the account, there was a group of 



CHAP, XI.] AN OLD FASHIONED WEDDING. 143 



very gay and pretty girls. Miss P. herself, never looked so 
lovely before. She was dressed perfectly plain, — wore her own 
hair, without wreath, laurel or other ornament. She had not a 
flower nor an atom of gold or silver about her: there was a neat 
pair of pearl pendants in her ears, but without any stone or me- 
tallic setting. Her dress a pure white muslin : — but she danced at 
least a hundred reels, and the roses in her cheeks were blown to 
their fullest bloom. You know she is a very pretty girl •, but Sally 
C, who was also there, seemed to bear off the bell." 

****** 

"But to the wedding. I went with the intention of seeing 

my friends, merely peeping into the supper room and coming 
home in an hour or two at farthest. But I got there about eight 
o'clock, and the dancing room was so thronged as to be impene- 
trable without an exertion of strength which would have been very 
inconvenient to me in so warm a room, and much more incon- 
venient to those whom I might overset in my career. So, I 
watched the accidental opening of avenues, and it was an hour and 
a half, at least, before I had kissed the bride — which, by-the-bye, 
I did under the pretence of delivering a message from you — and 
made the bows which were due from me. The enquiries after 
you and your children were many and apparently affectionate. 

" It was past eleven when the sanctum sanctorum of the sup- 
per room was thrown open — although I dont know but that the 
designation of the sanctum would be better applied to another 
apartment in the house — and it was near twelve when it came to 
my turn to see the show. And a very superb one it was, I assure 
you. The tree in the centre cake was more simply elegant than 
any thing of the kind I remember to have seen. It was near four 
feet high : the cake itself, the pedestal, had a rich — very rich — 
fringe of white paper surrounding it : the leaves, baskets, gar- 
lands, &c., &c., were all very naturally done in white paper, not 
touched with the pencil, and the baskets were rarely ornamented 
with silver spangles. At the ends of the tables were two lofty 
pyramids of jellies, syllabubs, ice creams, &c. — the which pyra- 
mids were connected with the tree in the centre cake by pure 
white paper chains, very prettily cut, hanging in light and delicate 
festoons, and ornamented with paper bow knots. Between the 



144 LETTER TO MR. EDWARDS. [1805—1806. 

centre cake and each pyramid was another large cake made for use: 
then there was a profusion of meats, cheese-cakes, fruits, etc. etc. 

" But there were two unnatural things at table ; — a small silver 
globe on each side of the tree, which might have passed — if Char- 
lotte, to enhance their value, had not told us that they were a 
fruit — whose name 1 dont recollect — between the size of a shad- 
dock and an orange, covered with silver leaf; — which was rather 
too outlandish for my palate. All the grandees of the place were 
there ." ***** 

The particularity and quaintness of this description of a wed- 
ding supper of more than forty years ago, in low Virginia, has a 
smack in it which may remind one of Froissart, or some enrap- 
tured chronicler of a banquet scene of those days wdien "ancientry 
and state" were held in more reverence than the present. The 
great centre cake and its white paper tree four feet high, and the 
paper chains hanging in delicate festoons from the topmost boughs, 
all the way over the table to the apexes of the pyramids of jellies, 
and the two large cakes below, ^'■for 7«e," and the silver globes — 
a pleasant picture this of home manufactured grandeur of the old 
time, when a blooming bride danced " a hundred reels" on the 
wedding night, giving fresh brilliancy to the roses of her cheek ! 
" Old times are changed, old manners gone," — and Williamsburg, 
doubtless, has dismissed the great paper tree and the sweet mould 
in which it grew, for modern fopperies. We may thank the young 
lawyer who has so happily preserved these images. 

We come now to another letter to the good friend of his youth. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Norfolk, May 6, 1806. 



My Dear Sir 



You see I have not gotten rid of my levities, and most certainly 
I never shall while I live ; they make an essential part of my con- 
stitution. I catch myself, sometimes, singing and dancing about 
the house like a madman, to the very great amusement of my wife 
and children, and probably of the passengers who are accidentally 
going along the street. This is very little like the wise conduct 



criAP. XI.] VAGARIES. 145 

which Shakspcare makes Henry IV. recommend to his son : but 
the hair-brained find some consolation in the figure which Henry V. 
made in spite of his father's maxims of gravity. Yet I hope you 
will not believe that I either sing or dance in the street or in 
the court-house. I know the indispensable importance of a little 
state, to draw the magic circle of respect around one's self and 
repel intrusion and vulgarity. 

******* 

To be sure, in a letter, it is not so material if a man cuts an 
eccentric caper here and there ; but I feel the same propensity 
when I am arguing a cause before a court and jury, although I see 
the track plainly before me, yet like an ill-disciplined race-horse 
I am perpetually bolting or flying the way, and this, too, perhaps 
in the very crisis of the argument. After having laid my pre- 
mises to advantage, often having gone through an elaborate de- 
duction of principles, in the very instant when I am about to reap 
the fruit of my toil, by drawing my conclusion, and when every 
body is on tiptoe expectation of it, some meteor springs up before 
me, and, in spite of me, I am off, like Commodore Trunnion's 
hunter, when the pack of hounds crossed him so unpropitiously, 
just as he was arriving at church to seize the hand of his anxious 
and expecting bride. I was in conversation the other day with a 
very intimate friend of mine on this subject, and was lamenting to 
him this laxity of intellect, which I was sure arose from the want 
of a well directed education. He admitted that I had ascribed it 
to its proper cause, but doubted whether it ought to be lamented 
as a defect, suggesting that the man in whose imagination these 
meteors were always shooting, bid much fairer both for fame and 
fortune than the dry and rigid logician, however close and cogent. 
In reply it was but necessary for me to appeal to examples before 
our eyes to disprove his suggestion. One was Alexander Camp- 
bell, whose voice had all the softness and melody of the harp, 
whose mind was at once an orchard and a flower garden, loaded 
with the best fruits and smiling in all the many-colored bloom of 
spring — whose delivery, action, style and manner were perfectly 
Ciceronian, and who, with all these advantages, died by his own 
hand. * * * * Qn the other hand, 

here is John Marshall, whose mind seems to be little else than a 
mountain of barren and stupendous rocks, an inexhaustible quarry 

VOL. 1—13 



146 MATHEMATICAL STUDY. [1S05— 1806. 

Irom which he draws his materials and huilds his fabrics, rude and 
Gothic, but of such strength that neither time nor force can beat 
them down — a fellow who would not turn otf a single step from 
the right line of his argument though a Paradise should rise to 
tempt him, who, it appears to me, if a flower were to spring in 
his mind, would strike it up with his spade as indignantly as a far- 
mer would a noxious plant from his meadow, yet who, all dry and 
rigid as he is, has acquired all the wealth, fame and honor that a 
man need to desire. There is no theorizing against facts: Mar- 
shall's certainly is the true road to solid and lasting reputation in 
courts of law. The habits of liis mind are directly those which 
an accurate and familiar acquaintance with the mathematics gene- 
rates. 

****** 

I feel so sensibly my own deficiencies in this mathematical 
study, that, if Heaven spares my son, and enables me to educate 
him, I will qualify him to be a professor in it, before he shall 
know what poetry and rhetoric are. If he turns out to have fancy 
and imagination, he will, i/ien, be in less danger of being run 
away with and unhorsed by them. If he is for the bar, I shall 
never cease to inculcate Marshall's method, being perfectly per- 
suaded that for courts, and especially superior and appellate 
courts (where there are no juries,) it is the only true method. It 
is true that if I had my choice, I would much ralher have my son 
(as to mind,) a Mirabeau than a Marshall. If such a prodigy, as 
I have heard Mirabeau described by Mr. Jetferson, did ever 
really exist. For he spoke of him as uniting two distinct and 
perfect characters in himself, whenever he pleased, — the mere 
logician with a mind apparently as sterile and desolate as the 
sands of Arabia, but reasoning at such times, with an Hercu- 
lean force, which nothing could resist ; at other times, bursting 
out with a flood of eloquence more sublime than Milton ever 
imputed to the cherubim and seraphim, and bearing all before 
him. I can easily conceive that a man might have either of 
these characters in perfection, or some portion of each, but that 
the same mind should unite them both, and each in perfection^ 
appears to me, considering the strong contrast in their essence 
and operation, to be indeed a prodigy. Yet I suppose it is true, 
" for Brutus is an honorable man." 



CHAP xr. DANGERS OF POLITICAL LIFE. 147 



No, my dear friend, I shall certainly never become famous by 
burning a temple, or despising the religion of Christ. On these 
subjects, in the heat, vanity and ostentation of youth, I once 
thought and spoke, to my shame, too loosely. A series of rescues 
from tlie brink of luin, to which, whenever left to myself, I madly 
rushed, convinced me that there was an invisible, benevolent 
power, who was taking an interest in my preservation. I hope 
that ingratitude is not one of my vices. The conviction which I 
have just mentioned, no sooner struck my heart, than it was filled 
with a sentiment which, I hope, will save me from the fate of a 
Voltaire and a Domitian. 

The friendly hope which you express, that you will live to hear 
me toasted at every political dinner, for superior virtues and wis- 
dom, is indeed very obliging, but very unfounded. You know 
how poor I have always been. The rocks and shoals of poverty 
and bankruptcy lie very near to the whirlpool of dishonor and in- 
famy. Among these rocks and shoals I have been tossing and 
beating ever since I entered upon the world. The whirlpool I have 
escaped, and, thank Heaven, feel myself now out of danger: but 
that horrible danger I shall never forget ; nor shall I cease strug- 
gling till I place my children out of its reach. This cannot be 
done if I give myself up to politics. This latter might be the road 
to distinction, but not to independence, either for myself or my 
children. When I have placed my wife and children beyond the 
reach of this world's cold and reluctant charity, unfeeling inso- 
lence, or more insulting pity, then my country shall have all the 
little service which I am capable of rendering. But while I have 
opportunities of hearing, seeing and reading, and making com- 
parisons between other men and myself, I cannot believe that the 
little all of my services will ever make me a political toast. Nor, 
indeed, do I envy that distinction to any man: for I remember how 
Miltiades, Aristides, Cicero, Demosthenes and many others were 
once idolized by their countrymen ; and I remember the disastrous 
proof which their examples afforded of the fickleness of popular 
favor, and the danger of aspiring to political distinctions even by 
the exercise of virtues. Yet I would not shrink from their fate 
if my country required the sacrifice at my hands. All I mean to 
say is, that I shall never enter on the political highway in quest 



148 MEDITATES ANOTHER REMOVAL. [1805-1806. 



of happiness. Thank Heaven! I have it at home— a wife, in 
whose praise, if I were to indulge it, my pen would grow as 
wanton as Juba's tongue in praise of his Marcia, two cherub 
ciiildren, a revenue which puts us quite at ease in the article 
of living, and the respect and esteem of my acquaintances, and 
I may say of Virginia. A man who has blessings like these in 
possession will not be very wise to jeopard them all by launching 
on the stormy Baltic of politics. 

Ever your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Wirt had now made up his mind to remove to Richmond. A 
scheme which had already taken such hold upon his fancy, re- 
quired no vehement enforcement from the advice of friends. His 
distrust upon this question of removal, and the suspense it had 
encountered in his mind, seem to have been effectively banished hy 
the accidental counsel of his friend Judge Tucker. From Wil- 
liamsburg, whilst attending court there, April, 1806, he writes 

thus to his wife : 

******* 

'' Williamsburg is just as hospitable and as heautiful as ever. 
* * * I told the Judge (Tucker) pri- 

vately, that my friends were pressing me to fix myself in Rich- 
mond. He caught at it with his usual enthusiasm, — insisted I 
should adopt the plan, — swore that I could not live another year in 
Norfolk, — declared that I had fattened at least forty pounds since 
he saw me in the winter, and that I was so fit a subject for the 
fever, he did'nt know the man on whose life he would not sooner 
buy an annuity than on mine : said he was sure I should do well at 
the bar there, after a year or two ; and that, even for the present, 
I might well support my family in Richmond and the neighbor- 
hood, I am perfectly confounded by the arguments pro and con. 
I pray Heaven to assist me with its counsels. Think of this sub- 
ject again deliberately and free from bias, my dear B. You shall 
decide it as you please, and wiiatever may be the result, I shall 
always believe you advised for the best. * * 

* * Do not yield too much to inclination in the 

aforesaid pros and cons. It is a measure which, if resolved on, 
will cither ruin or make us happy, and, in the former event, it 



CHAP. XI.] DOUBTS IN REGARD TO IT. 149 

may end in Kentucky. I confess that when I bring the movement 
close to my mind, and imagine myself just about to commence it, 
I am swayed by doubts like those which agitate Hamlet when he 
meditates self-destruction — he was afraid of losing Heaven, I, of 
an earthly Paradise — may Heaven guide us !" 

This point, — " whether it was better to bear the ills" he had, 
" or fly to others'" that he knew not of — gave him, however, pause 
of no great duration. The auspicious and better counsels of Mrs. 
Wirt prevailed. In a few months after this letter, he took a house 
in Richmond upon a lease of five years, and set himself to the 
business of his removal with all proper despatch. 



VOL. 1— 13* 



CHAPTER XII. 

18 6. 

REMOVES TO RICHMOND A PROFESSIONAL CASE OF CONSCIENCE.— DE- 
FENCE OP SVVINNEY CHANCELLOR WYTHE.— JUDGE CABELL.— LETTER 

TO MRS. VV. ON SWINNEY'S CASE.— FONDNESS FOR MUSIC— LETTER TO 
F. W. GILMER.— RECOLLECTIONS OF PEN PARK. 

His dwelling place is now once more in Richmond. His re- 
turn to the bar there is signalized by a case of conscience, the 
proposing of which shows that he had now reached that point in 
his profession in which, no longer impelled by hard necessity, he 
might debate with himself a question of casuistry, upon the merits 
of taking employment in a criminal cause, wherein he had reason 
to believe the criminal unworthy of defence. This is a new era 
in his forensic life. It is an incident which does not always arrive 
in the career of even eminent lawyers. The point has often been 
a debated question. The better opinion of the bar seems gen- 
erally to have settled it on the side of their own interest ; much 
to the gratification of culprits, who, however steeped in iniquity, 
find no lack of energetic and skilful defence from the brightest, if 
not the best, lights of the profession. A trial is regarded as a 
species of tourney, in which the champions are expected to show 
their prowess — to use a phrase of the British Spy — in " forensic 
diirladiation," as little concerned with the intrinsic right or wrong 
of the accusation, as the knights of the ancient tilting yard were 
with the real merits of the beauty of their respective mistresses. 
The laws of chivalry placed the true knight in a category some- 
what resembling that of Captain Absolute. " Zounds, sirrah, the 
lady shall be as ugly as I choose: she shall have a hump on each 
slioulder ; she shall be as crooked as the crescent ; her one eye 
shall roll like the bull's in Coxe's Museum ; she shall have a skin 
like a mummy and the beard of a Jew, — she shall be all this,— 
and you shall ogle her all day and sit up all night to write sonnets 
on her beauty." The question of conscience ordinarily fares no 



CHAP. Xrr.] CHANCELLOR WYTIIE. 151 

better in the courts, in the customary tilting there in defence of 
suspected innocence. 

The case which now exercised the meditation of Wirt was 
that of a man, by the name of Swinney, charged with the crime of 
poisoning the venerable Chancellor Wythe, who had just died in 
Richmond, under circumstances which led to a strong suspicion 
of the guilt of the accused. Chancellor Wythe was one of the 
best men the country ever produced. Distinguished for the sim- 
plicity of his character, his bland and amiable manners, his up- 
rightness and steadfast devotion to duty, he was universally be- 
loved in the society of Richmond. 

I am indebted to a most estimable gentleman, whose name 
frequently appears in the course of this biography. Judge Ca- 
bell,* the President of the Court of Appeals of Virginia, for 
some recollections of the Chancellor, which very agreeably con- 
firm what has been often said of his gentle, and philanthropic 
temper; and which also afford melancholy testimony as to the 
foul deed which is supposed to have terminated his life. 

" You and I may remember," says the Judge, in a letter to Mrs. 
Wirt, " the trouble he ^ave himself to entertain the visiters of 
his young niece. Miss Nelson, who lived with him a few years. 
She and all of us were almost children, and few grown men would 
have found any interest in staying in the room where we were. 
But the good old gentleman brought forth his philosophical appa^ 
ratus and amused us by exhibiting experiments, which we did not 
Avell comprehend, it is true, but he tried to make us do so, ^nd we 
felt elevated by such attentions from so great a man. 

* William H. Cabell, the gentleman here alluded to, now at the head of the 
Bench of Virginia, crowned with the richest honors of a ripe old age, and sur- 
rounded by an affectionate circle of friends, married Agnes, the eldest daughter of 
Col. Gamble, and sister of Mrs. Wirt. He represented Amherst county in the 
Legislature of Virginia, from 1793 to 1805, except during three years of this inter- 
val. In 1805 he was elected Governor of the State, and at the expiration of three 
years was appointed to the Bench of the General Court. He was transferred, in 
1811, to the Court of Appeals, of which he is, at this time— 1849 — the President. 
The connection between him and Mr. Wirt, laid the foundation of an intimate 
friendship, which was increased with every succeeding year until death dissolved it. 
Many proofs of this may be found in the correspondence to which our narrative 
hereafter refers. In this intimacy, it will be seen also, that Joseph Cabell, the 
brother of the Judge, largely participated. 



152 DEATH OF THE CHANCELLOR. [1806. 



"To test the theory that there was no natural inferiority of in- 
tellect in the negro, compared with the white man, he had one of 
his own servant boys and one of his nephews both educated ex- 
actly alike. I believe, however, that neither of them did much 
credit to their teacher. 

"The young men who studied law with him, or who were oc- 
cupied in his service were all devoted to him. Henry Clay was 
one of them. The Chancellor lived to a very old age. In his 
appearance he was thin, rather tall, but stooped from age and de- 
bility, as he walked to and from the Capitol to his own house. He 
generally lived alone, but in his latter years he had a nephew with 
him to whom he intended to bequeath his estate. This was Swin- 
ney. The common belief was that this man, being impatient for 
his uncle's money, poisoned him. He was tried for his life. Mr. 
Wirt was his lawyer, and he was acquitted. Yet there was but 
little doubt of his guilt in the minds of most persons. The cook 
said that he came into the kitchen and dropped something white 
into the coffee-pot, making some excuse to her for doing so. She 
and another servant partook of the coffee. I have heard that the 
latter died in consequence. The coffee grounds being thrown out, 
some fowls ate of them and died. The unhappy old gentleman 
lived long enough after taking the coflTee to alter his will, so that 
the suspected man got no portion of his estate at last. The cotFee 
grounds were examined and arsenic was found in abundance min- 
gled with them." 

This little sketch presents the outlines of the case, as it was de- 
veloped at the trial and in the investigations of the day. 

Wirt's doubts, to which I have alluded, upon the propriety of 
engaging in the defence of Swinney, are told in the following let- 
ter written from Williamsburg, after he had engaged his house in 
Richmond, and in the moments of his removal thither. 

TO MRS. WIRT. 

Williamsburg, July 13, 1S06. 
»♦***** 
" 1 have had an application made to me yesterday, which em- 
barrasses me not a little, and I wish your advice upon it. I dare 
say you have heard me say that I hoped no one would undertake 



CHAP. XII. 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 153 



the defence of Swinney, but that he would be left to the fate 
which he seemed so justly to merit. Judge Nelson, himself, has 
changed, a good deal, the course of my opinions on this subject, 
by stating that there was a difference in the opinion of the faculty 
in Richmond as to the cause of Mr. Wythe's death, and that the 
eminent McClurg, amongst others, had pronounced that his death 
was caused simply by bile and not by poison. I had concluded 
that his innocence was possible, and, therefore, that it would not 
be so horrible nothing to defend him as, at first, I had thought it. 
But I had scarcely made up my mind on this subject, little sup- 
posing that any application would be made to me. Yesterday, 
however, a Major A. M., a very respectable gentleman, and an 
uncle to Swinney on the mother's side, came down in tlie stage 
from Riclimond, and made that application in a manner which af- 
fected me very sensibly. He stated the distress and distraction of 
his sister, the mother of Swinney; said it was the wish of the 
young man to be defended by me, and that if I would undertake 
it, it would give peace to his relations. What shall I do .'' If there 
is no moral or professional impropriety in it, I know that it might 
be done in a manner which would avert the displeasure of every 
one from me, and give me a splendid debut in the metropolis. 
Judge Nelson says I ought not to hesitate a moment to do it ; that 
no one can justly censure me for it ; and, for his own part, he 
thinks it highly proper that the young man should be defended. 
Being himself a relation of Judge Wythe's, and having the most 
delicate sense of propriety, I am disposed to confide very much 
in his opinion. But I told Major M., I would take time to consi- 
der of it, and give him an answer, at the farthest, in a month. I 
beg you, my dear B., to consider this subject, and collect, if you 
can conveniently in conversation, the opinions of your parents and 
Cabell, and let me hear the result. My conduct through life is 
more important to you and your children than even to myself; 
for to my own heart I mean to stand justified by doing nothing 
that I think wrong. But, for your sakes, I wish to do nothing 
that the loorld shall think wrong. I would not have you or them 
subject to one reproach hereafter because of me." 

******* 
On such a question as is here proposed — indeed on most ques- 
tions of conduct or duty, — the sensibility of an intelligent and vir- 



154 DEFENCE OF SWINNEY. [1506. 

luous woman is often worth more than all the dialectics of the 
most accomplished casuist, to discern what it best becomes us to 
do in a matter that touches our reputation. Her feelings are but 
the quick perceptions of a heart that reasons better than the mind. 
Guided by the instinctive love, characteristic of her sex, of what 
is beautiful, not less in moral than in physical life, she lights upon 
her conclusion with a rapidity and a truth which outstrip all argu- 
ment in speed, and often, in equal degree, surpass it in wisdom. 
When this judgment is stimulated by the affectio«ate anxiety of a 
wife, it is even less apt to stray into error: the very tenderness of 
her relation renders it the more impartial. 

How it fared in regard to Swinney's case, is told in a passage 
from a letter written within ten days after the last. * * * 
" I shall defend young Svvinney under your counsel. My con- 
science is perfectly clear, from the accounts I hear of the conflict- 
ing evidence. Judge Nelson again repeats, on consideration, the 
opinion he before gave me as to the perfect propriety of the 
step." 

Swinney, as we have seen, was tried and acquitted. I have no 
record to furnish me the grounds of this acquittal, much less to 
enable me to say any thing of ^'- the splendid debut'''' which Wirt 
anticipated. 

It is not unlikely that the trial terminated in favor of the 
accused from a defect in the evidence, by no means unusual in 
those states, whose statutory law disqualifies a witness from giving 
testimony, upon objections founded merely in the race or blood of 
the person acquainted with the facts. The cook in this case, who 
seems to have been, perhaps, the only direct witness, we may 
conjecture, was a negro, and forbidden to be heard in a court of 
justice. If this be the real cause of the acquittal, it presents a 
very striking and cogent example of the impolicy of a law so 
prevalent in the United States. It may well be questioned, whether 
more inconvenience and mischief do not result from such legal 
restraints as disable our familiar servants from testifying to the 
thousand transactions in which our interest is concerned, and 
under circumstances that scarcely admit of other testimony, than 
can be compensated by any supposed good which may properly 
be ascribed to the disqualification. Is there, in fact, any just 
ground of policy in shuttmg off the only testimony by which in- 



CHAP. XII ] 



MUSIC. 155 



noccnce may be proved, guilt established, or common matters of 
right determined? Are not courts and juries sufficiently able to 
judge of the credibility of a witness in every case ? 

We pass from these speculations to the regular course of our 
narrative. 

Wirt was passionately fond of music, and devoted a portion 
of his time to its cultivation throughout every period of his life. 
The following playful letter was written to commend a teacher of 
the art to a friend of his in Williamsburg, who was at the head of 
an academy there. 

TO LEROY ANDERSON. 

Richmond, September 25, 1806. 
Dear Sir: 

Your two favors were received together, yesterday. It is well 
for me they were so ; for having no pretensions to poetry, either 
Ossianic or Horatian, I should have been very much at a loss how 
to answer your first, if it had come alone. I was disposed to ask 
myself how it was possible for you to write so fine a rhapsody on 

two such subjects as B and myself, until I recollected the 

answer of the poet Waller to Charles II., when asked why he 
had produced so superior an ode on the death of Cromwell, to that 
in which he had celebrated his own restoration ? " because poetry 
excels in fiction." But your last has let me down to the tone of 
business and made me feel myself at home. 

I know Vogel, he gave several lessons to Mrs. Wirt in Rich- 
mond and in Norfolk. I have also frequently heard him play 
alone, and can safely pronounce him the finest male performer on 

the piano that I have ever heard. But like his predecessor B 

he is a son of Anacreon ; — not that his potations are either so 

frequent or so deep as poor B 's, but the ladies, his scholars 

in Norfolk, sometimes complained of neglect, which was attributed 
to frolics over-night. In Williamsburg he will have fewer tempta- 
tions and I dare say will do better. 

There is a little fellow here, by the name of , of whose skill 

in music the ladies and other connoisseurs of Richmond speak 
very highly. But he is only about seventeen, and they tell me 
(for 1 have not seen him) a perfect Adonis. I would speak to him 



156 FRANCIS W. GILMER. [1806. 



in the manner you direct, but that I remember a novel called " Miss 
Beverly," which I read when a boy. She is represented as the 
daughter of respectable parents, w^ho, at the budding age, had a 
young beau introduced into the house as her music master. Her 
fancy was set agog by iiim and never rested afterwards. This to 
be sure is fiction, but it is in nature, and I should apprehend that 
such a fellow, as • is said to be, might put to flight the 

"Gluips and cranks and playful wiles 
Nods and becks »ad wreathed smiles," 

of your academy, and introduce the sigh and tear of midnight in 
their place. Nevertheless, if you say so, instruct me, and I will 
speak to him. 

On further recollection, there is, I think, a Mrs. C here, 

who also teaches music. I will know with certainty before next 
week and whether she will be willing to remove to Williamsburg, 
on the terms you propose. Her answer I will deliver in person, 
and you may choose between her and Vogel. 

Poor B ! I am really sorry for him, for he was a harmless 

being, with as gentle a soul as any man ever had. But I dare say 
" death came like a friend to release him from pain." In the 
Elysian shades he may rove and feast on harmony among spirits as 
gentle as his own, unmolested by any painful remembrance of 
home and the discordant shrieks of his Alecto. Suppose you give 
him an epitaph or a monody. 

I am much obliged to you for the concern which you express 
for my health. It was a slight touch of the ague and fever : a 
mere piece of ceremony by way of conferring on me the freedom 
of the city. It is entirely over. 

With the best wishes for your prosperity and happiness, 
I am, dear sir, 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Francis Walker Gilmer, whom we have heretofore noticed, 
was now approaching to manhood. He had resolved to devote 
his studies to the science of medicine, and had partially entered 
upon that pursuit. It will be seen hereafter that he found reason, 
at a later period of his life, to change this profession for the law, 



CHAP. XII.] 



LETTER TO HIM. 157 



in which he gave the strongest promise of eminent success. Mr. 
Wirt had not so far ahenated himself from the memory and attach- 
ments of Pen Park as to lose his interest in the family which yet 
inhabited there. Death had made his usual ravages in the family 
circle, but the heart of him who liad been so tenderly fostered 
under that roof, lost nothing of its original reverence for those 
who were departed, nor of its kind solicitude for the welfare of 
those who survived. This interest was cherished on both sides 
by frequent correspondence, but more particularly by that with 
Francis, who had grown to be an especial favorite with his bro- 
ther-in-law. In this letter we get some agreeable glimpses of 
Pen Park and its inmates. 



TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, October 9th, 1806. 
My Dear Francis: 

Your favor of the 4th ult. came regularly to hand, and gave 
me all the pleasure you wished and intended. It has been lying 
ever since, in the drawer of my writing chair, waiting for an in- 
terval of leisure to answer it. I am sure I need not tell you what 
a source of delight it is to me to receive these assurances that my 
brothers and sisters of Albemarle still regard me as one of the same 
family, although sundered from them by my destiny. The mis- 
fortunes of Pen Park have, indeed, scattered us all most wofully, 
and placed us in every variety of circumstances and situation. 
Let it be the object of the survivors to soften these misfortunes 
and their consequences, as well as they can, by cherishing for 
each other the most cordial affection, and reciprocally plucking 
from the path of life each thorn of care and sorrow as we go 
along. You, my dear Francis, and your brothers, will have a far- 
ther, and if possible, a still sweeter office to perform. To raise 
the name of Gilmer from the tomb, and crown it with fresh 
honors. I have seen that name honored and highly honored, 
for genius, science and virtue. The recollection is very dear to 
my heart. For what is lost I console myself with the hope that 
I shall live to see the day, when the family will rise to all its 
former reputation for superior endowments, both of the mind and 
heart ; and even bloom with more extended and diversified honors. 

VOL. 1 — 14 



158 DOCTOR GILMER. [1806- 



The genius of the family is not lost. I am charmed to see it 
inherited in such abundance, and I cannot believe that its inher- 
itors will, for want of energy and enterprise, fail to replace it on 
the roll of fame. 

Peachy, I hear, is contributing his quota towards its restora- 
tion, by making very strenuous and successful exertions in Henry 
county. He has a good deal of his father's cast of character, and, 
among other qualities, will I think, possess the same manly and 
impressive eloquence for which he was remarkable. The bar 
will afford him a field for its display which his father had not. 
And therefore, if his exertions continue, he cannot fail to enlarge 
the sphere of the family distinction on this head. You, I under- 
stand, purpose to follow your father's profession. The science 
of medicine is, I believe, said to be progressive and to be daily 
receiving new improvements. You will therefore have a wide field 
to cultivate, and will take the profession on a grander scale. It 
will be your own fault therefore if you do not, as a physician, fill 
a larger space in the public eye. But the space which your father 
occupied was filled not merely by his eminence as a physician, 
(although he w^as certainly amongst the most eminent) ; he was 
moreover a good linguist, a master of botany, and the chem- 
istry of his day, had a store of very correct general science, was 
a man of superior taste in the fine arts, and, to crown the whole, 
had an elevated and a noble spirit. In his manners and conver- 
sation he w^as a most accomplished gentleman; easy and graceful 
in his movements, eloquent in speech ; in temper, gay and animated, 
and inspiring every company with his own tone; with wnt pure, 
sparkling and perennial ; and when the occasion called for it, 
uttering sentiments of the highest dignity, and utmost force. Such 
was your father, before disease had sapped his mind and consti- 
tution, and such the model which, as your brother, I w^ould wish 
you to adopt. It w^ill be a model much more easy for you to form 
yourself on, than any other, because it will be natural to you ; 
for I well remember to have remarked, when you were scarcely 
four years old, how strongly nature had given you the cast of 
your father's character. If he had lived and enjoyed his health 
until you had grown to manhood, you would have been his exact 
counterpart. All that you can do now is, to form to yourself by 



OHAP. Xir.] ADMONITIONS. 159 

the descriptions of others, an exact image of your fatlier in his 
meridian, and even, if possible, to surpass him. 

Endeavor to cultivate that superior grace of manners which 
distinguishes the gentleman from the crowd around him. In your 
conversation avoid a rapid and indistinct utterance, and speak 
deliberately and articulately. Your father was remarkable for his 
clear and distinct enunciation, and the judgment with which he 
placed his emphasis. Blend with the natural hilarity of your 
temper, that dignity of sentiment and demeanor, which alone can 
prevent the wit and humorist from sinking into a trifler, and can 
give him an effective attitude in society. 

Get a habit, a passion for reading, — not flying from book to 
book, with the squeamish caprice of a literary epicure, but ac- 
cording to the course which Mr. Robertson will prescribe to you. 
Read systematically, closely and thoughtfully; analyzing every 
subject as you go along, and laying it up carefully and safely in 
your memory. It could have been only by this mode that your 
father gained so much correct information on such a variety of 
subjects. Determine with yourself that no application shall be 
wanting to lift you to the heights of public notice, and, if you find 
your spirits and attention beginning to flag, think of being buried 
all your life in obscurity, confounded with the gross and ignorant 
herd around you. But there are yet more animating and more 
noble motives for this emulation ; the power of doing more exten- 
sive good, by gaining a larger theatre and increasing the number 
of objects; the pure delight of hearing one's self blessed, for 
benevolent and virtuous actions, and, as a still more unequivocal 
and rapturous proof of gratitude, " reading that blessing in a 
nation's e3''es :" add to this, the communicating the beneficial 
effects of this fame to our friends and relations; the having it in 
our power to requite past favors, and to take humble and indigent 
genius by the hand, and lead it forward to the notice of the world. 
These are a few, and but a few, of the good effects of improving 
one's talents to the highest point by careful and constant study, 
and aspiring to distinction. 

I am very much pleased with your letter. You read the 
classics with a discrimination of taste and judgment unusual at 
your years, and therefore the more honorable to you. I concur 
with you in your remarks upon the iEneid of Virgil, as well as 



160 ADMONITIONS. [1306. 

the Odes of Anacreon. I am fond of a vivid picture, painted to 
the fancy, such as Virgil's storm. Anacreon, too, is thought a 
good describer, in his way ; but his way is a very bad one, and 
his odes can be estimated and enjoyed only by the debauchee who 
has himself rolled in the sensualities on which alone the genius of 
Anacreon seems to have luxuriated. I hope you will never 
possess this test for judging his merit. You will gratify me by 
Avriting to me often, and if you will allow me to write to you 
like an elder brother, who would wish you to profit by his own 
experience, and to attain all those honors which he has missed, 
you shall hear from me as often as I can find a leisure hour. My 
love to our brothers and sisters when you see them. Let me be 
remembered to Mr. and Mrs. Meriwether and Mr. R. Robertson; 
all of whom I very much esteem. 

Your friend and brother, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

1807. 

AAROX BURR BROUGHT TO RICHMOND INDICTED FOR TREASON.— WIRT RE- 
TAINED AS COUNSEL BY THE GOVERNMENT.— THE TRIAL — SOME OF ITS 
INCIDENTS THE ASPERITY OF COUNSEL EXTRACTS OF THE ARGUMENT. 

The year 1807 is memorable in the life of Wirt as the year 
of the trial of Aaron Burr. 

Burr's conspiracy is one of the most extraordinary incidents 
connected with the history of this country. Whether it were the 
mere dream of a bold, ambitious and wicked citizen, or his medi- 
tated and prepared enterprise, enough has been brought to light, 
in the investigation of that incident, to excite the amazement of 
every one that a man so eminent, so gifted with splendid talents, 
and so able to appreciate the character and temper of the Ameri- 
can people, should have permitted himself to fall into the infatua- 
tion of even an idle speculation upon his power to accomplish 
what, from all the evidence which has been divulged, we are 
hardly at liberty to disbelieve was his purpose. 

It seems certain that Burr entertained some visionary notion of 
his ability to produce a revolution in the government at the Capi- 
tal ; that he talked familiarly of expelling the President, and with 
no more than " the Marine Corps " at Washington, of driving, if 
need were, the Congress "into the Potomac." That he aban- 
doned this project, for one which he supposed more practicable — 
the separation of the Union and the erection of a Western Con- 
federacy beyond the Allegany. That finding Ibis, upon more ma- 
ture reflection, somewhat too arduous for his means, he finally 
sought the gratification of his restless and too prurient desire of 
fame, in a scheme to invade Mexico and make himself master of 
those fair domains. 

The ill will engendered particularly throughout the Southern 
States against Spain, by her offensive policy in regard to the navi- 
gation of the Mississippi, and her still more offensive proceedings 

VOL. 1 — 14* 



162 BURR'S CONSPIRACY. [1807. 

afterwards, and the constant expectation of a collision with that 
power, furnished a basis for this scheme of Burr's, which gave it 
a substantial aspect and brought it within the category of things 
of probable accomplishment. The other schemes were but the 
madness of the moon in comparison. 

Mr. Jefferson had, with most commendable caution and address, 
though not without great difficulty, restrained the exasperated 
spirit of our people from an assault upon the Spanish provinces 
beyond the Mississippi; — an assault which would, at that day, have 
anticipated the brilliant achievements which have recently placed 
an American army in the ancient city of Mexico. Then, as now, 
it would only have been necessary for the government to give per- 
mission to the thousands and tens of thousands who find in war a 
pastime and a profit, to have overrun Mexico with the force of a 
torrent. 

" No better proof," says Mr. Jefferson in a letter to Mr. Bow- 
doin, "of the good faith of the United States could have been 
given, than the vigor with which we have acted and the expense 
incurred in suppressing the enterprise meditated lately by Burr 
against Mexico. Although, at first, he proposed a separation of 
the Western country, and on that ground received encouragement 
and aid from Yrujo, according to the usual spirit of his govern- 
ment towards us, yet he very early saw that the fidelity of the 
Western country was not to be shaken, and turned himself wholly 
towards Mexico. And so popular is an enterprise on that coun- 
try in this, that toe had only to lie still, and he icoxdd have had fol- 
lowers enough to have been in the city of JMexico in six weeks?'' 

In a letter afterwards to La Fayette, he remarked, "nothing has 
ever so strongly proved the innate force of our form of govern- 
ment as this conspiracy. Burr had probably engaged one thousand 
men to follow his fortunes, without letting them know his projects, 
otherwise than by assuring them the government approved of them. 
The moment a proclamation was issued, undeceiving them, he 
found himself left with about thirty desperadoes only. The 
people rose in mass wherever he was, or was suspected to be, 
and by their own energy the thing was crushed in one instant, 
without its having been necessary to employ a man of the military, 
but to take care of their respective stations. His first enterprise 
was to have been to seize New Orleans, which he supposed would 



CHAP. XIII.] HIS ARREST. 163 

powerfully bridle the upper country, and place him at the door of 
Mexico. It is with pleasure I inform you that not a single native 
Creole, and but one American, of those settled there before we 
received the place, took any part with him. His partisans were 
the new emigrants from the United States and elsewhere, fugitives 
from justice or debt, and adventurers and speculators of all 
descriptions." 

Burr had been arrested in January on the Mississippi, had been 
subjected to an examination at Washington, in Mississippi Ter- 
ritory, and detained in custody to be sent to the capital of the 
United States. He had escaped from this custody, and was soon 
afterwards arrested near Fort Stoddard on the Tombigbee, making 
his way to Mobile. Upon this he was conducted to Richmond to 
be tried on a charge of high treason. He arrived here on tlie 26th 
of March. Wirt was then in Williamsburg. A letter from him to 
his wife on the 20th, alludes to the fact of Burr's expected trial. 

" Your letter gave me the first tidings of the apprehension of 
Burr and his being sent to Richmond. This was news indeed. 
Since I came here this evening, I understand he arrived in Rich- 
mond on Thursday night in the same disguise in which he was 
apprehended; and, farther, that he has engaged Randolph and 
Wickham in his defence. I should not be much surprised if he is 
discharged on a petition to the judge, or let to bail, and make his 
escape again. If the man is really innocent these persecutions will 
put the devil in his head, unless he is more than man in magna- 
nimity." 

The primary examination of the prisoner Avas made before Chief 
Justice Marshall on the 30th and 31st of March. This was con- 
ducted by Ca3sar A. Rodney, the Attorney General of the United 
{States, and George Hay, the Attorney for the District of Virginia, 
Messrs. Wickham and Randolph appearing for Burr. The result 
was, a commitment upon the charge of a misdemeanor in setting on 
foot a military expedition against the dominions of the King of 
Spain, — the court refusing to include in the commitment the charge 
of treason which had been urged by the counsel for the United 
States. 

Colonel Burr was in consequence admitted to bail upon a recog- 
nizance to appear in the Circuit Court at its next term on the 22d 
of May. 



164 PUT UPON HIS TRIAL. [1807. 



The case was again taken up at the appointed day, the Chief 
Justice and Judge Griffin presiding" in the court. Colonel Burr 
now appeared with two additional counsel, Messrs. Botts and 
Baker. On the part of the prosecution, Mr. Rodney having 
withdrawn, Mr. Hay was assisted by Mr. Wirt and Mr. MacRae- 

A grand jury, consisting of some of the most eminent citizens 
of Virginia, with John Randolph of Roanoke, as the foreman, 
was sworn on that day. After several adjournments and many 
protracted discussions between the counsel, upon the nature of the 
evidence to be submitted to them, and on other collateral topics, 
the grand jury finally, on the 24th of June, brought in indict- 
ments, both for treason and misdemeanor, against Aaron Burr and 
Herman Blennerhasset, which were followed, in two days, by 
similar indictments against Jonathan Dayton, John Smith, Comfort 
Tyler, Israel Smith and Davis Floyd. 

Colonel Burr, on the same day that these last indictments were 
presented, pleaded not guilty, and the trial was postponed until 
the 3d of August. 

Without saying more, at present, as to the incidents of the trial, 
or making any reference to the facts brought into proof, or the 
points of law discussed, it will be sufficient to note that a most ela- 
borate and profound opinion was delivered by the Chief Justice, 
which excluded from the case, as it was affirmed, a large amount 
of testimony which might have shown Burr's intentions, and thus, 
on the 1st of September, put an end to the trial on the indictment 
for treason. The verdict was : " We of the jury say that Aaron 
Burr is not proved to be guilty under this indictment, by any evi- 
dence submitted to us. We therefore find him not guilty." 

The indictment for the misdemeanor, met the same fate. The 
opinion of the court, in that case, excluded the testimony relied 
on, and the jury again found a verdict of not guilty. 

Upon this, the traverser was committed and held to bail, to 
answer in Ohio, on the charge of setting on foot and providing 
the means for a military expedition against the territories of 
Spain. 

In a letter of Colonel Burrs, to his daugliter, dated October 
23, 1807, we find the following notice of the event : 

"After all, this is a drawn battle. The Chief Justice gave his 
opinion on Tuesday. After declaring that there were no grounds 



CHAP. XIII.] HIS REFLECTIONS UPON IT. 165 



of suspicion, as to the treason, he directed that Burr and Blenner- 
hasset should give bail in three thousand dollars, for further trial 
in Ohio. The opinion was a matter of regret and surprise to the 
friends of the Chief Justice, and of ridicule to his enemies, — all 
believing that it was a sacrifice of principle to conciliate Jack 
Cade. Mr. Hay immediately said that he should advise the 
government to desist from further prosecution. That he has 
actually so advised, there is no doubt." 

The conduct of Burr, throughout the trial, was in keeping with 
this insinuation against the firmness and integrity of Chief Justice 
Marshall. There is apparent, in his demeanor, during the trial and 
before it, an affectation of innocence, which, under the circum- 
stances, almost partakes of insolent defiance, and which very sig- 
nificantly accords with the bold and confident character of his 
whole scheme. He seems to have regarded his enterprise almost 
as an act of beneficence to the country, and the attempt to arrest 
it as somewhat in the light of insult and persecution. " You 
have read to very little purpose," he says, in a letter to his 
daughter, during the pendency of the trial, " if you have not re- 
marked that such things happen in all democratic governments. 
Was there in Greece or Rome, a man of virtue and independence, 
and supposed to possess great lalents, who was not the object of 
vindictive and unrelenting persecution .''" 

And again, 

" I want an independent and discerning witness to my conduct, 
and to that of the government. The scenes which have passed, 
and those about to be transacted, will exceed all reasonable credi- 
bility, and will hereafter be deemed fables, unless attested by very 
high authority." * 

These are curious revelations of feeling in contrast with the 
facts divulged upon the trial. Judge Marshall, — whose opinions 
in this case were, like all the other exhibitions of his judicial 
character, fraught with the calm and impartial spirit of justice 
itself, and distinguished for their legal shrewdness and depth, — did 
not escape some animadversions from the side of the government, 
as well as this of the prisoner; but the country has not failed to 
render full honor to the purity as well as the wisdom of the 
mind which guided the issues of this celebrated trial. 



166 INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL. [1807. 

We come now to present some of the leading features of the 
case, so far as Wirt's participation in it may be of interest. In 
doing this I shall make a few extracts from his speeches, by no 
means designing to fatigue the reader with a detail either of the 
facts or the law of the case, which, indeed, may only be properly 
understood by a reference to the trial itself But as Wirt ob- 
tained by his labors in this trial a large increase of popularity, 
both at the bar and with the country, it will not be considered as 
inappropriate to the subject before us, to cull from the report of 
it such passages or incidents as may be characteristic of the coun- 
sel whose name has become so favorably connected with it. 

The trial was remarkable for the asperity with which it was 
conducted on both sides. Almost in the first stage of its progress 
the court was obliged to comment upon the temper displayed by 
counsel. 

An application was made by Col. Burr for a subpoena to the 
President of the United States, with a clause requiring him to 
produce a letter which he had received from Gen. Wilkinson, 
dated 21 October, 1806; and also to produce copies of certain 
orders which had been issued by the government relative to the 
arrest. 

This application was resisted on one ground, amongst others, 
that the relevancy or materiality of the papers referred to was not 
shown, — the atfidavit in the case being " that the said letter may 
be material " to the defence. A long debate ensued. 

Mr. Wirt said in the course of this debate — " We do not 
deny that a subpcena may be issued to summon the President, and 
that he is as amenable to that process as any other citizen. * 

* * I shall show that the subpcena duces tecum is 

not a process of right, but that the application is addressed to the 
discretion of the court — 

" Mr. Wickham. — This is admitted. 

"Mr. Wirt. — I thank you for the admission. You have relieved 
me from the unnecessary trouble of so much of my argument. 
The question then is, by what circumstances should that discre- 
tion be controlled ? Should it be by the mere wish of the pris- 
oner.-* If so, it is in vain that the court possesses any discretion 
on the subject. The prisoner has but to ask and have. Consider 
this wide and bold doctrine on the ground of expediency. Would 



CHAP. Xiri. AN ARGUMENT. 167 

you summon any private individual, from the remotest part of tlie 
United States, to produce a paper on the mere wish of tlie pris- 
oner, without defining the paper and sliowing how it bore on his 
defence? If you would, you put the pursuits and the peace of 
every individual in the United .States at the mercy of the prisoner's 
caprice and resentments. This argument from inconvenience as- 
sumes an attitude of most awful and alarming importance when 
you extend it to a case like this before the court. A prisoner has 
seldom any cordial amity for the government by which he is pro- 
secuted for a crime. The truth is, he feels himself in a state of 
war with that government, and the more desperate his case the 
more ardent will be his spirit of revenge. Would you expose the 
offices of state to be ravaged at the mere pleasure of a prisoner, 
who, if he feels that he must fall, would pant for nothing more 
anxiously than ' to grace his fall and make his ruin glorious,' by 
dragging down with him the bright and splendid edifice of the 
government .!* Sir, if Aaron Burr has the right, at his mere wish, 
to call one paper from the government, he has the same right to 
call any other; and so, one after another, might divulge every 
document and secret of state, however delicate our foreign rela- 
tions might be, and however ruinous the disclosure to the honor 
and prosperity of the country. 

" It is much to be wished that a rule could be devised which, 
while it would protect the rights of the prisoner, should also pro- 
tect the public offices from being wantonly and unnecessarily vio- 
lated. I think there is such a rule. It is this : By requiring that 
the prisoner, who calls for a paper, should show that the paper 
applies to his case and is requisite for his defence. When he shall 
have done this, I hold that he is entitled to call for any paper. 
It will then rest with the President of the United States, the offi- 
cer appointed by the people to watch over the national safety, to 
say whether that safety will be endangered by divulging the paper. 
******* 

" Again, sir. I have never seen or heard of an instance of this 
process being required to bring forward any paper, but where such 
a paper was in its nature evidence, for which either party had an 
equal right to call, and to use it when produced. But it is obvious 
that, in this case and in the present state of things, we could not 
use the letter of General Wilkinson as evidence ; although the op- 



168 AN ARGUMENT. [1807. 

posite party should obtain liis subpoena duces tecum for this paper, 
and would seem thereby to have made it evidence, and introduced 
it into the cause. Yet after it comes we cannot use it : hence there 
is no reciprocity in it. The paper is not, at present, evidence 
and therefore is not Avithin the principle on which this process is 
awarded. One more remark on this letter, and I have done with 
it. 1 am no more an advocate for the needless multiplication of 
state secrets, than the gentleman who has preceded me. It looks 
too much like the mysteries of monarchy ; and 1 hate monarchy 
with all its mysteries, as 1 do the mysterious movements of those 
who are lovers of monarchy. Yet it is obvious, that there may be 
cases in which the very safety of the state may depend on conceal- 
ing the views and operations of the government. I will instance 
this very letter. I do not know what it contains ; but it is from 
the general who commands on the Spanish frontier. That the 
state of our affairs was and is, with Spain, not the most amicable 
is well understood. We know that our affairs in that quarter 
wear, even at this time, the most lowering aspect. Suppose this 
letter should contain a scheme of war, a project of attack, — would 
it be proper to divulge and proclaim it even to Spain herself? If 
the letter contains such a thing, I have no doubt that the President 
ought to and w^ill conceal at least so much of it. This, however, 
will be a question with him, when the paper shall be called for ; 
and a question which he alone is competent to decide. 

******* 

"I cannot take my seat, sir, without expressing my deep and 
sincere sorrow at the policy which the gentlemen in the defence 
liave thought it necessary to adopt. As to Mr. Martin, I should 
liave been willing to impute this fervid language to the sympathies 
and resentments of that friendship which he has taken such fre- 
quent occasions to express for the prisoner, his honorable friend. 
In the cause of friendship I can pardon zeal even up to the point 
of intemperance ; but the truth is, sir, that before Mr. Martin came 
to Richmond, this policy was settled; and on every question inci- 
dentally brought before the court, we were stunned with invectives 
against the administration. I appeal to your recollection, sir, 
whether this policy was not manifested even so early as in those 
new and until now unheard of challenges to the grand jury for 
favor .^ Whether that policy was not followed up with increased 



CHAP. Xiri.] PRELIMINARY DISCUSSION. 169 



spirit, in the very first speeches which were made in this case ; 
those of Mr. Botts and Mr. Wickhani on their previous question 
pending the attorney's motion to commit ? Whether they have not 
seized with avidity every subsequent occasion, and on every mere 
question of abstract law before the court, flew off at a tangent 
from the subject, to launch into declamations against the govern- 
ment ? Exhibiting the prisoner continually as a persecuted patriot: 
a Russell or a Sidney, bleeding under the scourge of a despot, and 
dying for virtue's sake! If there be any truth in the charges 
against him, how ditferent were the purposes of his soul from 
those of a Russell or a Sidney! I beg to know what gentlemen 
can intend, expect, or hope, from these perpetual philippics against 
the government } Do they flatter themselves that this court feel 
political prejudices which will supply the place of argument and 
innocence on the part of the prisoner } Their conduct amounts to 
an insinuation of the sort. But I do not believe it. On the con- 
trary, I feel the firm and pleasing assurance, that as to the court, 
the beam of their judgment will remain steady, although the earth 
itself should shake under the concussion of prejudice. Or is it 
on the bystanders that the gentlemen expect to make a favorable 
impression ? And do they use the court merely as a canal, through 
which they may pour upon the world their undeserved invectives 
against the government? Do they wish to divide the popular 
resentment and diminish thereby their own quota.? Before the 
gentlemen arraign the administration, let them clear the skirts of 
their client. Let them prove his innocence ; let them prove that 
he has not covered himself with the clouds of mystery and just 
suspicion ; let them prove that he has been all along erect and fair, 
in open day, and that these charges against him are totally ground- 
less and false. That will be the most eloquent invective which 
they can pronounce against the prosecution; but until they prove 
this innocence, it shall be in vain that they attempt to divert our 
minds to other objects, and other inquiries. We will keep our 
eyes on Aaron Burr until he satisfies our utmost scruple. I beg to 
know, sir, if the course which gentlemen pursue is not disrespect- 
ful to the court itself? Suppose there are any foreigners here 
accustomed to regular government in their own country, what can 
they infer from hearing the federal administration thus reviled to 
the federal judiciary ? Hearing the judiciary told, that the admin- 

VOL. 1 — 15 



no PRELIMINARY DISCUSSION. [1807. 

istration are ' blood hounds^ hunting tliis man with a keen and 
savage thirst for blood ; that they now suppose they have hunted 
him into their toils and have him safe.' Sir, no man, foreigner or 
citizen, who hears this language addressed to the court, and re- 
ceived with all the comj)lacency at least which silence can imply, 
can make any inferences from it very honorable to the court. It 
would only be inferred, while they are thus sulfered to luxu- 
riate in these gross invectives against the administration, that they 
are furnishing the joys of a Mahometan paradise to the court 
as well as to their client. I hope that the court, for their own 
sakes, will compel a decent respect to that government of which 
they themselves form a branch. On our part, we wish only a fair 
trial of this case. If the man be innocent, in the name of God let 
him go ; but while we are on the question of his guilt or innocence, 
let us not suffer our attention and judgment to be diverted and 
distracted by the introduction of other subjects foreign to the 
inquiry." 

" Mr. WicKiiAM appealed to the court if the counsel for Colonel 
Burr had been the first to begin the attack, and wished the gen- 
tleman to follow his own wise maxims. 

# # # # . * # # 

" All that Colonel Burr is obliged to show, is probable cause to 
believe that Wilkinson's letter may be material. Mr. Wirt has 
said, that the acquittal of Colonel Burr will be a satire on the 
government. I am sorry that the gentleman has made this con- 
fession, that the ciiaracter of the government depends on the guilt 
of Colonel Burr. If I believed him to be correct, I could easily 
explain, from that circumstance, the anxiety manifested to convict 
him, and the prejudices which have been excited against him. 
But I will not believe that this is the case, and will tell the gen- 
tleman that we think Burr may be acquitted, and yet the govern- 
ment have pure intentions. 

" The writ of suhpccna duces tecum ought to be issued, and if 
there be any state secrets to prevent the production of the letter, 
the President should allege it in his return ; for, at present, we 
cannot know that any such secrets exist. The court, when his 
return is before them, can judge of the cause assigned. But I 



CHAP, xirr.] 



ASPERITIES OF COUNSEL. 171 



have too good an opinion of the President to think he would 
withhold the letter. 

****** 

" We contend liiat no affidavit on the part of Colonel Burr is ne- 
cessary. Wilkinson's affidavit, already published, together with 
the President's communication to Congress, prove that the letter 
in question must be material. It may show, that the treasonable 
transactions attributed to Colonel Burr, within the limits of this 
state, never existed ; for as to Blannerhasset's island, the gentle- 
men in the prosecution /cnoio, there was no such thing as a mili- 
tary force on that island. 

[" Here Mr. Hay interrupted him, and said, that it was extremely 
indelicate and improper to accuse them of voluntarily supporting 
a cause which they knew to be unjust. He solemnly denied the 
truth of tlie charge against him, and the gentlemen who assisted 
him, and declared that they could prove the actual existence of an 
armed assemblage of men on Blannerhasset's island, under the 
command of Aaron Burr.] 

" Mr. Wickham acknowledged that he had gone too far in the 
expression he had used, and ought not to have uttered what he had 
said concerning the counsel for the United States, and declared 
that he meant nothing personal against them." 

Upon the conclusion of Mr. Wickham's speech, the Chief 
Justice remarked, " that although many observations, in the 
course of the several discussions which had taken place, had 
been made by the gentlemen of the bar, in the heat of debate, of 
which the court did not approve, yet the court had hitherto 
avoided interfering ; but, as a pointed appeal had been made to 
them on this day, (alluding to the speech of Mr. Wirt,) and they 
had been called upon to support their own dignity, by preventing 
the government from being abused, the court thought it proper to 
declare that the gentlemen on both sides had acted improperly in 
the style and spirit of their remarks; that they had been to blame 
in endeavoring to excite the prejudices of the people ; and had 
repeatedly accused each other of doing what they forget they 
have done themselves. The court therefore expressed a wish 
that the counsel for the United States and for Colonel Burr, would 
confine themselves on every occasion to the point really before the 
court ; that their own good sense and regard for their characters 



172 MR. HAY AND MR. MARTIN. [1807. 

required them to follow such a course ; and it was hoped that they 
would not hereafter deviate from it." 

Mr. Hay, referring to the orders of the Government for the 
suppression of Burr's expedition, which were called for, in con- 
nection with the letter of General Wilkinson, remarked : 

" They next contend that the orders are material, because they 
were illegal, arbitrary, unconstitutional, oppressive and unjust; that 
Burr's acts were merely acts of self-defence against tyranny and 
usurpation, and of course, were justifiable. 

" Many strange positions have been laid down, but this is mon- 
strous. Mr. Martin will excuse me for saying, that I expected 
sounder doctrine from his age and experience. These principles 
were not learnt by him in Maryland, nor are they the doctrines of 
this place. Considering that he has come all the way from Mary- 
land to enlighten us of the Virginia bar by his great talents and 
erudition, I hoped he would not have advanced a doctrine which 
would have been abhorred even in the most turbulent period of 
the French revolution, by the Jacobins of 1794." 

From Luther Martin's argument, we extract a portion of his 
reply to Mr. Hay : 

" The gentleman has told us," he said, " that respect ought to 
be paid to the officers of government. It is granted. I thought 
so once. I thought that the officers of government ought to be 
treated with high respect, however much their conduct ought to 
be the subject of criticism ; and I invariably acted according to 
that principle. If I have changed my opinion, I owe it to the 
gentleman himself, and the party he is connected with. They 
formerly thought differently. That gentleman and his friends so 
loudly and incessantly clamored against the officers of govern- 
ment, that they contributed to effect a change in the administra- 
tion, and are now, in consequence, basking in the sunshine of 
office ; and therefore they wish to inculcate and receive that 
respect which they formerly denied to others in the same situa- 
tion. We have a right to inspect the orders issued from the War 
and Navy Departments ; because, if they were illegal, we had a 
right to oppose them. If they were unconstitutional and oppres- 
sive, it was right to resist them : but this is denied, because we 
are not trying the President. God forbid, we should. But we 
are trying if we had a right to resist. If every order, however 



CHAP. XIII.] LUTHER MARTIN. 173 

arbitrary and unjust, is to be obeyed, we are slaves as mucb as the 
inhabitants of Turkey. If the presidential edicts are to be the 
supreme law, and the otficers of the government have but to 
register them, as formerly in France, (the country once so famed 
by these gentlemen for its progress and advancement towards 
liberty); and if we must submit to them, however unjust and un- 
constitutional, we are as subject to despotism, as the people of 
Turkey, the subjects of the " Grand Monarque''' of old in 
France, or those of the despot Bonaparte at this day. If this 
were true, where would be our boasted freedom .'' where, the su- 
perior advantages of our government, or the beneficial effects of 
our revolutionary struggles .'' I will take the liberty of explaining 
how far resistance is justifiable. The President has certain 
known and well defined powers ; so has a common magistrate, 
and so has a constable. The President may exceed his legal au- 
thority, as well as a magistrate or a constable. If a magistrate 
issue a warrant and direct it to a constable, resistance to it is at 
the peril of the person resisting. If the warrant be illegal, he 
is excused : but if it be legal, he is not. On the same principle, 
resistance to the orders of the President is excusable, if they be 
unconstitutional and illegal. Resistance to an act of oppression, 
unauthorised by law, can never be criminal ; and this is all we 
contend for." 

****** 

" The gentleman expressed his surprise that such doctrines 
should come from me, who come from Maryland to instruct and 
enlighten the Virginia bar. I come not to instruct or enlighten. 
I come to unite my feeble efforts with those of other gentlemen in 
defence of my friend, whom I believe to be perfectly innocent of 
the heavy charges against him : but their conduct evinces, that if 
I were to attempt it, my instructions would be in vain. If, how- 
ever, I did venture to advise him, it would be, not to accuse us of 
evil intentions ; to mix a little of the milk of human nature with 
his disposition and arguments ; to make his conduct conformable 
to his professions, and not to be perpetually imputing guilt to us. 
But the gentleman needs no advice." 

The opinion of Chief Justice Marshall upon the questions sub- 
mitted in this debate, thus disposes of the principal point under 
discussion, 

VOL. 1—15* 



174 COURT'S OPINION. [1807. 



" The second objection is, that the letter contains matter which 
ought not to be disclosed. 

" That there may be matter, the production of which the court 
would not require, is certain; but that, in a capital case, the 
accused ought, in some form, to have the benefit of it, if it were 
really essential to his defence, is a position which the court would 
very reluctantly deny. It ought not to be believed, that the de- 
partment, which superintends prosecutions in criminal cases, w^ould 
be inclined to withhold it. What ought to be done, under such 
circumstances, presents a delicate question, tlie discussion of 
Avhich, it is hoped, will never be rendered necessary in this coun- 
try. At present it need only be said, that the question does not 
occur at this time. There is certainly nothing before the court 
which shows that the letter in question contains any matter the 
disclosure of which w^ould endanger the public safety. If it does 
contain such matter, the fact may appear before the disclosure is 
made. If it does contain any matter, which it would be impru- 
dent to disclose, w^hich it is not the wish of the executive to dis- 
close ; such matter, if it be not immediately and essentially appli- 
cable to the point, will, of course, be suppressed. It is not easy 
to conceive, that so much of the letter as relates to the conduct 
of the accused can be a subject of delicacy with the President. 
Every thing of this kind, however, will have its due considera- 
tion, on the return of the subpoena." 

* * # * * # * 

" Much has been said about the disrespect to the chief magis- 
trate, which is implied by this motion, and by such a decision of 
it as the law is believ^ed to require. 

" These observations will be very truly answered by the decla- 
ration, that this court feels many, perhaps, peculiar motives, for 
manifesting as guarded a respect for the chief magistrate of the 
Union as is compatible with its official duties. To go beyond 
these would exhibit a conduct, which would deserve some other 
appellation than the term respect. 

" It is not for the court to anticipate the event of the present 
prosecution. Should it terminate as is expected on the part of 
the United States, all those, who are concerned in it, should cer- 
tainly regret, that a paper, wiiich the accused believed to be es- 
sential to his defence, which may, for aught that now appears, be 



CHAP. XIII.] THE RIGHT TO PUBLIC PAPERS. 175 

essential, had been withheld from him. I will not say that this 
circumstance would, in any degree, tarnish the reputation of the 
government ; but I will say, that it would justly tarnish the repu- 
tation of the court, which had given its sanction to its being with- 
held. Might I be permitted to utter one sentiment, with respect 
to myself, it would be to deplore, most earnestly, the occasion 
which should compel me to look back on any part of my ofllcial 
conduct with so much self-reproach as I should feel, could I de- 
clare, on the information now possessed, that the accused is not 
entitled to the letter in question, if it should be really important to 
him. 

" The propriety of requiring the answer to this letter is more 
questionable. It is alleged, that it most probably communicates 
orders showing the situation of this country with Spain, which 
will be important on the misdemeanor. If it contain matter not 
essential to the defence, and the disclosure be unpleasant to the 
executive, it certainly ought not to be disclosed. This is a point 
which will appear on the return. The demand of the orders, 
which have been issued, and which have been, as is alleged, pub- 
lished in the Natchez Gazette, is by no means unusual. Such 
documents have often been produced in the courts of the United 
States and the courts of England. If they contain matter inte- 
resting to the nation, the concealment of which is required by the 
public safety, that matter will appear upon the return. If they 
do not, and are material, they may be exhibited." 

This decision seems, with some qualification, to conform with 
the views of Mr. Jefferson, as expressed upon this proceeding in 
his letter to Mr. Hay, in which, after proffering his readiness to 
supply the letter in question, and all other matters alleged to be 
necessary to the defence, he remarks : 

"With respect to papers there is certainly a public and a 
private side to our offices. To the former belong grants of land, 
patents for inventions, certain commissions, proclamations, and 
other papers patent in their nature. To the other belong mere 
executive proceedings. All nations have found it necessary, that, 
for the advantageous conduct of their affairs, some of these pro- 
ceedings at least, should remain known to their executive func- 
tionary only. He, of course, from the nature of the case, must 
be the sole judge of which of them the public interests will 



176 MR. JEFFERSON'S OPINION. [1807. 



permit publication. Hence, under our Constitution, in requests of 
papers from the Legislative to the Executive branch, an exception 
is carefully expressed, as to those which he may deem the public 
welfare may require not to be disclosed ; as you will see in the 
enclosed resolution of the House of Representatives which pro- 
duced the Message of January 22d, respecting this case. The 
respect naturally due between the constituted authorities, in their 
official intercourse, as well as sincere dispositions to do for every 
one what is just, will always ensure from the Executive, in exer- 
cising the duty of discrimination confided to him, the same candor 
and integrity to which the nation has, in like manner, trusted in the 
disposal of its judiciary authorities." 

This brief summary of a discussion, in the year 1807, presents 
a topic upon which much doubt has often been expressed in the 
Congress of the United States, and has sometimes been debated 
with no little acrimony — the extent of the right and the duty of 
the President, to withhold information demanded by either house 
of Congress. The decision of the court, of which an extract is 
given in this notice of the trial, and Mr. Jefferson's strictures upon 
the relative duties of the Legislature and the Executive, seem to 
present the question in a point of view which should lead to a 
just and definitive limitation of the boundaries by which each is 
properly circumscribed. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

1807. 

BURR'S TRIAL CONTINUED THE PRINCIPAL ARGUMENT IN THE CASE- 
NOTICES OP WIRT'S SHARE IN IT.— MR. MERCER'S TESTIMONY.— HIS DE- 
SCRIPTION OF BLANNERH.\SSET'S RESIDENCE OTHER INCIDENTS OF THE 

TRIAL. 

The trial proceeded through its preliminary stages, in which 
every question, capable of being raised, was presented and con- 
tested with scrupulous pertinacity and with abundance of acri- 
mony. At length the two indictments were found; — the first, for 
treason, the second, for the misdemeanor. The case of treason 
was first taken up; the plea of not guilty made, and, after many 
challenges and rejections of those who had been summoned on the 
petit jury, a panel was obtained. New points, as to the order of 
examining the witnesses, were mooted and argued at every step, 
with the same asperity as before. Much testimony was delivered 
on the part of the prosecution. The charge of treason was sup- 
posed, by the counsel for the government, to be sustained by the 
evidence. This evidence proved that numbers of persons, amount- 
ing to some tliirty or more, had assembled in warlike array, on 
Blannerhasset's island in the Ohio river, near Marietta, in Decem- 
ber 1806, with a purpose, as it was affirmed, to proceed down the 
river, and, with the assistance of others, to seize the city of New 
Orleans, under the pretence of the ultimate invasion of Mexico. 
It was not proved, however, that Colonel Burr was present with 
these men on the island 

Upon this testimony, the counsel for the prisoner asked the in- 
terposition of the court, to arrest the further examination of wit- 
nesses, on the following ground, as stated by Mr. Wickham. 

" The counsel for the prosecution having gone through their 
evidence relating directly to the overt act charged in the indict- 
ment, and being about to introduce collateral testimony of acts 
done beyond the limits of the jurisdiction of this court, and, it not 



178 BURR'S TRIAL CONTINUED. [1307. 

only appearing from the proofs, but being distinctly admitted, that 
the accused, at the period when war was said to have been levied 
against the United States, was hundreds of miles distant from the 
scene of action, it becomes the duty of his counsel to object to the 
introduction of any such testimony as wholly irrelevant and inad- 
missible." Upon this motion of the prisoner's counsel arose the 
great and decisive argument in the case. 

The discussion chiefly turned on the proposition suggested by 
Mr. Wickham, — " That no person can be convicted of treason 
in levying war, who was not personally present at the commission 
of the act charged in the indictment as constituting the offence.''' 
There were other questions of less significance in the case, 
which were also argued with great amplitude and labor. " Whe- 
ther there can be treason in levying war without the employment of 
force." " Whether one who would be only an accessory in a 
felony, is to be considered as a principal in treason by levying 
^var." "And if so, whether the real principal ought not first to 
be convicted." These points and others were debated. 

I have already intimated that it is not my design to furnish 
even an outline of this case ; that my purpose is to submit only so 
much of it to the reader, as may give him some characteristic 
indications of Mr. Wirt's efforts towards the performance of the 
duty it imposed upon him. In the pursuit of this purpose, I shall 
continue to make some extracts from his argument upon the points 
now presented. This discussion was conducted with full prepa- 
ration and study by all the counsel in the case, and as it was of 
a nature to determine the issue of the prosecution, it attracted a 
proportionate degree of interest from the public. 

The extracts from Mr. Wirt's speech which follow,"are made 
sparsim and without reference to a continuous or connected view 
of his topics: they are offered as specimens of manner, and illus- 
trations of modes of thought, and with no view to an exhibition 
of the general force of the argument, which, indeed, could not be 
abbreviated without doing injustice to the speaker. , 

" It is my duty," said Mr. Wirt, in the commencement of his 
speech, " to proceed on the part of ths United States, in opposing 
this motion. But I should not deem it my duty to oppose it, if it 
were founded on correct principles. I stand here with the same 
independence of action, which belongs to the Attorney of the 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 179 



United States; and as he would certainly relinquish the prosecu- 
tion the moment he became convinced of its injustice, so also most 
certainly would I. The humanity and justice of this nation would 
revolt at the idea of a prosecution, pushed on against a life, which 
stood protected by the laws ; but whether they would or not, I 
would not plant a thorn, to rankle for life in my heart, by opening 
my lips in support of a prosecution which I felt and believed to 
be unjust. But believing, as I do, that this motion is not founded 
in justice, that it is a mere manoeuvre to obstruct the inquiry, to 
turn it from the proper course, to wrest the trial of the facts from 
the proper tribunal, the jury, and embarrass the court with a 
responsibility which it ought not to feel, I hold it my duty to pro- 
ceed for the sake of the court, for the sake of vindicating the trial 
by jury, now sought to be violated, for the sake of full and ample 
justice in this particular case, for the sake of the future peace, 
union and independence of these states, I feel it my bounden duty 
to proceed ; in doing which, I beg that the prisoner and his 
counsel will recollect the extreme difficulty of clothing my argu- 
ment in terms which may be congenial with their feelings. The 
gentlemen appear to me to feel a very extraordinary and unrea- 
sonable degree of sensibility on this occasion. They seem to 
forget the nature of the charge, and that we are the prosecutors. 
We do not stand here to pronounce a panegyric on the prisoner, 
but to urge on him the crime of treason against his country. 
When we speak of treason, we must call it treason. When 
we speak of a traitor, we must call him a traitor. When 
we speak of a plot to dismember the Union, to undermine the 
liberties of a great portion of the people of this country, and 
subject them to a usurper and a despot, we are obliged to use the 
terms which convey those ideas. Why then are gentlemen so 
sensitive .'' Why on these occasions, so necessary, so unavoidable, 
do they shrink back with so much agony of nerve, as if instead 
of a hall of justice, we were in a drawing-room with Colonel 
Burr, and were barbarously violating towards him every principle 
of decorum and humanity .'' 

" Mr. Wickham has indeed invited us to consider the subject 
abstractedly ; and we have been told, that it is expected to be so 
considered ; but, sir, if this were practicable, would there be no 
danger in it.-* Would there be no danger, while we were mooting 



180 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

points, pursuing ingenious hypothesis, chasing elementary princi- 
ples over the wide extended plains and Alpine heights of ab- 
stracted law, that we should lose sight of the great question before 
the court ? This may suit the purposes of the counsel for the 
prisoner ; but it does not therefore necessarily suit the purposes 
of truth and justice. It will be proper, when we have derived 
a principle from law or argument, that we should bring it to the 
case before the court, in order to test its application and its prac- 
tical truth. In doing which, we are driven into the nature of the 
case, and must speak of it as we find it. But besides, the gentle- 
men have themselves rendered this totally abstracted argument 
completely impossible, for one of their positions is, that there is 
no overt act proven at all. Now that an overt act consists of fact 
and intention, has been so often repeated here, that it has a fair 
title to Justice Vaughan's epithet of a ' decantatum.^ In speaking 
then of this overt act, we are compelled to inquire, not merely 
into the fact of the assemblage, but the intention of it, in doing 
w^hich, we must examine and develop the whole project of the 
prisoner. It is obvious, therefore, that an abstract examination of 
this point cannot be made ; and since the gentlemen drive us into 
tlie examination, they cannot complain, if without any softening 
of lights or deepening of shades, we exhibit the picture in its 
true and natural state. 

" This motion is a bold and original stroke in the noble science 
of defence. It marks the genius and hand of a master. For it gives 
to the prisoner every possible advantage, while it gives him the 
full benefit of his legal defence : the sole defence which he would 
be able to make to the jury, if the evidence were all introduced 
before them. It cuts off from the prosecution all that evidence 
which goes to connect the prisoner with the assemblage on the 
island, to explain the destination and objects of the assemblage, 
and to stamp, beyond controversy, the character of treason upon 
it. Connect this motion with that which was made the other day 
to compel us to begin with the proof of the overt act, in which, 
from their zeal, gentlemen were equally sanguine, and observe 
what would have been the eftect of success in both motions. We 
should have been reduced to the single fact, the individual fact, of 
the assemblage on the island, without any of the evidence which 
explains the intention and object of that assemblage. Thus gen- 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 181 

tlemen would have cut off all the evidence, which carries up llie 
plot almost to its conception, which at all events describes tlie 
first motion which quickened it into life, and follows its progress 
until it attained such strength and maturity as to throw the whole 
western country into consternation. Thus of the icorld of evi- 
dence which we have, we should have been reduced to the speck, 
the atom which relates to Blannerhasset's island. 

% ^ ^ tF tP ^ ^ 

"I shall proceed now to examine the merits of the motion 
itself and to answer the argument of the gentleman (Mr. Wick- 
ham) who opened it. I will treat that gentleman with candor. 
If I misrepresent him, it will not be intentionally. I will not 
follow the example which he has set me on a very recent 
occasion. I will not complain of flowers and graces where none 
exist. I will not, like him, in reply to an argument as naked as a 
sleeping Venus, but certainly not half so beautiful, complain of 
the painful necessity I am under, in the weakness and decrepitude 
of logical vigor, of lifting first this flounce and then that furbelow, 
before I can reach the wished for point of attack. I keep no 
flounces or furbelows ready manufactured and hung up for use in 
the millinery of my fancy, and if I did, I think I should not be 
so indiscreetly impatient to get rid of my wares, as to put them 
off on improper occasions. I cannot promise to interest you by 
any classical and elegant allusions to the pure pages of Tristram 
Shandy. I cannot give you a squib or a rocket in every period. 
For my own part, I have always thought these flashes of wit (if 
they deserve that name), I have always thought these meteors of 
the brain which spring up with such exuberant abundance in 
the speeches of that gentleman, which play on each side of the 
path of reason or, sporting across it with fantastic motion, decoy 
the mind from the true point in debate, no better evidence of the 
soundness of the argument with which they are connected, nor, 
give me leave to add, the vigor of the brain from which they 
spring, than those vapors which start from our marshes and blaze 
with a momentary combustion, and which floating on the undu- 
lations of the atmosphere, beguile the traveller into bogs and 
brambles, are evidences of the firmness and solidity of the earth 
from which they proceed. I will endeavor to meet the gentle- 
man's propositions in their full force and to answer them fairly. I 

VOL. 1—16 



182 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 



will not, as I am advancing towards them, with my mind's eye, 
measure the height, breadth and power of the proposition; if I 
find it beyond my strength, halve it; if still beyond my strength, 
quarter it; if still necessary, subdivide it into eighths ; and when 
by this process I have reduced it to the proper standard, take 
one of these sections and toss it with an air of elephantine 
strength and superiority. If I find myself capable of conducting, 
by a fair course of reasoning, any one of his propositions to an 
absurd conclusion, I will not begin by stating that absurd con- 
clusion, as the proposition itself which 1 am going to encounter. 
I will not, in commenting on the gentleman's authorities, thank 
the gentleman with sarcastic politeness, for introducing them, de- 
clare that they conclude directly against him, read just so much 
of the authority as serves the purpose of that declaration, omitting 
that which contains the true point of the case which makes against 
me ; nor, if forced by a direct call to read that part also, will I 
content myself by running over it as rapidly and inarticulately 
as I can, throw down the book with a theatrical air, and exclaim, 
'just as I said,' wdien I know it is just as I had not said. I know 
that by adopting these arts, I might raise a laugh at the gentle- 
man's expense ; but I should be very little pleased with myself, if 
1 were capable of enjoying a laugh procured by such means. I 
know too, that by adopting such arts, there will always be those 
standin"- around us, who have not comprehended the whole merits 
of the legal discussion, with whom I might shake the character of 
the o-entleman's science and judgment as a lawyer. I hope I shall 
never be capable of such a wish, and I had hoped that the gentle- 
man himself felt so strongly that proud, that high, aspiring and 
ennoblin"- magnanimity, which I had been told conscious talents 
rarely fail to inspire, that he would have disdained a poor and 
fleeting triumph gained by means like these. 

"I proceed now to answer the several points of his argument, 
so far as they could be collected from the general course of his 
speech. I say so far as they could be collected ; for the gentle- 
man, although requested before he began, refused to reduce his 
motion to writing. It suited better his partizan style of warfare 
to be perfectly at large; to change his ground as often as he 
pleased ; on the plains of Monmouth to-day, at the Eutaw Springs 
to-morrow. lie will not censure me therefore, if I have not been 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 183 

correct in gathering liis points from a desultory discourse of four 
or five hours lengtli, as it would not have been wonderful if I 
had misunderstood him. I trust therefore that I have been cor- 
rect; it was my intention to be so; for I can neither see pleasure 
nor interest, in misrepresenting any gentleman ; and I now beg the 
court and the gentleman, if he will vouchsafe it, to set me right if 
I have misconceived him. 

"I understood him, then sir, to resist the introduction of farther 
evidence under this indictment, by making four propositions : 

" 1. Because Aaron Burr not being on the island at the time of 
the assemblage, cannot be a principal in the treason according to 
the constitutional definition or the laws of England. 

" 2. Because the indictment must be proved as laid ; and as the 
indictment charges the prisoner with levying war with an assem- 
blage on the island, no evidence to charge him with that act by 
relation is relevant to this indictment. 

"3. Because if he be a principal in the treason at all, he is a 
principal in the second degree ; and his guilt being of that kind 
which is termed derivative, no parol evidence can be let in to 
charge him, until we shall shew a record of the conviction of the 
principals in the first degree. 

" 4. Because no evidence is relevant to connect the prisoner with 
others, and thus to make him a traitor by relation, until we shall 
previously shew an act of treason in these others ; and the assem- 
blage on the island was not an act of treason. 

" I beg leave to take up these propositions in succession, and to 
give them those answers which to my mind are satisfactory. Let 
us examine the first: It is because Aaron Burr, not being present 
on the island at the time of the assemblage, cannot be a principal 
in the treason, within the constitutional definition or the laws of 
England. 

"In many of the gentleman^s general popositions, I perfectly 
accord with him : as that the Constitution was intended to guard 
against the calamities to which Montesquieu refers, when he 
speaks of the victims of treason; that the Constitution intended 
to guard against arbitrary and constructive treasons; that the 
principles of sound reason and liberty require their exclusion; 
and that the Constitution is to be interpreted by the rules of reason 
and moral right. I fear however, that I shall find it difficult to 



184 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1S07. 

accommodate both the gentlemen who have spoken in support of 
the motion, and to reconcile some of the positions of Mr. Randolph 
to the rules of Mr. Wickham ; for while the one tells us, to inter- 
pret the Constitution by sound reason, the other exclaims, ' save us 
from the deductions of common sense.' What rule then shall I 
adopt .'' A kind of reason which is not common sense might in- 
deed please both the gentlemen ; but as that is a species of reason 
of which I have no very distinct conception, I hope the gentlemen 
will excuse me for not employing it. 

******* 

" The inquiry is, whether 'presence at the overt act be neces- 
sary to make a man a traitor.'' The gentlemen say, that it is 
necessary; that he cannot be a principal in the treason, without 
actual presence. What says the Supreme Court, in the case of 
Bollman and Svvartwout? ' It is not the intention of the court to 
say, that no individual can be guilty of this crime, who has not 
appeared in arms against his country ; on the contrary, if war be 
actually levied, that is, if a body of men be assembled, for the 
purpose of effecting by force a treasonable purpose, all those who 
perform any part, however minute, or however remote from the scene 
of action, and who are actually leagued in the general conspiracy, 
are to be considered as traitors.' 

* * * * * * * 

" The counsel knew, that their first point was met directly by 
the counter authority of the Supreme Court. They have impliedly, 
if not expressly admitted it ; hence they have been reduced to the 
necessity of taking the bold and difficult ground, that the passage 
which I have read is extra-judicial, a mere obiter dictum. They 
have said this, but they have not attempted to sheio it. 

" Give me leave to shew that they are mistaken ; that it is not 
an ohiter dictum ; that it is not extra-judicial ; but that it is a direct 
adjudication of a point immediately before the court. 

*^ ^ ^ M, ^ ^ 

•71" TT" *7r TT -7(i Tt- 

" But for a moment let us relinquish that decision, and putting 
it aside, let us indulge the gentleman with the inquiry, whether 
that decision be in conformity with the Constitution of the United 
States and the laws of England. In interpreting the Constitution 
let us apply to it the gentleman's own principles: the rules of 
reason and moral right. The question to be thus determined is, 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 185 

whether a man who is absent may not be guilty as if he were 
actually present. 

*•' That a law should be so construed as to advance the remedy 
and repress the mischief is not more a rule of common law, than 
a principle of reason; it applies to penal as well as to remedial 
laws. So also the maxim of the common law, that a law as well 
as a covenant should be so construed that its object may rather 
prevail than perish, is one of the plainest dictates of common sense. 
Apply these principles to the Constitution. Gentlemen have said, 
that its object was to prevent the people from being harassed by 
arbitrary and constructive treason. But its object, I presume, was 
not to declare that there was no such crime. It certainly did not 
mean to encourage treason. It meant to recognise the existence 
of the crime and provide for its punishment. The liberties of the 
j)eople, which required that the oflence should be defined, circum- 
scribed and limited, required also that it should be certainly and 
adequately punished. The framers of the Constitution, informed 
by the examples of Greece and Rome, and foreseeing that the 
liberties of this republic might one day or other be seized by the 
daring ambition of some domestic usurper, have given peculiar 
importance and solemnity to the crime, by ingrafting it upon the 
Constitution. But they have done this in vain, if the construction 
contended for, on the other side, is to prevail. If it require actual 
presence at the scene of the assemblage to involve a man in the 
guilt of treason, how easy will it be for the principal traitor to 
avoid this guilt and escape punishment forever.'' He may go into 
distant states, from one state to another. He may secretly wander 
like a demon of darkness, from one end of the continent to the 
other. 

"He may enter into the confidence of the simple and unsuspect- 
ing. He may pour his poison into the minds of those who were 
before innocent. He may seduce them into a love of his person, 
otier them advantages, pretend that his measures are .honorable 
and beneficial, connect them in his plot and attach them to his 
glory. He may prepare the whole mechanism of the stupendous 
and destructive engine and put it in motion. Let the rest be done 
by his agents. He may then go a hundred miles from the scene 
of action. Let him keep himself only from the scene of the assem- 
blage and the immediate spot of battle, and he is innocent in law, 
VOL. 1 — 16* 



186 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

Avhile those whom he has deluded are to suffer the death of 
traitors ! Who is the most guiUy of this treason, the poor, weak, 
deluded instruments or the artful and ambitious man who corrupted 
and misled them .'' There is no comparison between his guilt and 
tlieirs ; and yet you secure impunity to him, while they are to 
sufier death ! Is this according to the rules of reason } Is this 
moral right .'' Is this a mean of preventing treason .'' Or rather, 
is it not in truth a direct invitation to it ? Sir, it is obvious, that 
neither reason nor moral right require actual presence at the 
overt act to constitute the crime of treason. Put this case to any 
common man, whether the absence of a corrupter should exempt 
liim from punishment for the crime, which he has excited his 
deluded agents to commit ; and he will instantly tell you, that he 
deserves infinitely more severe punishment than his misguided 
instruments. There is a moral sense, much more unerring in 
questions of this sort, than the frigid deductions of jurists or phi- 
losophers ; and no man of a sound mind and heart can doubt for a 
moment between the comparative guilt of Aaron Burr (the prime 
mover of the whole mischief) and of the poor men on Blannerhas- 
set's island, who called themselves Burr's men. In the case of 
murder, who is the most guilty, the ignorant deluded perpetrator 
or the abominable instigator .'' The decision of the Supreme Court, 
su-, is so far from being impracticable on the ground of reason and 
moral right, that it is supported by their most obvious and palpa- 
ble dictates. Give to the Constitution the construction contended 
for on the other side, and you might as well expunge tlie crime 
from your criminal code; nay, you had better do it, for by this 
construction you hold out the lure of impunity to the most danger- 
ous men in the community, men of ambition and talents, while you 
loose the vengeance of the law on the comparatively innocent. 
If treason ought to be repressed, I ask you, who is the most dan- 
gerous and the most likely to commit it, — tlie mere instrument 
who applies the force, or the daring, aspiring, elevated genius who 
devises the whole plot, but acts behind the scenes .-' 

''Permit me now to bring Mr. Wickham to England. Sir, the 
decision of tlie Supreme Court is equally supported by the law of 
England. 



CHAP. XIV, WIRT'S SPEECH. 187 

"But to gratify them, let us put Coke aside; what will they say 
to Lord Hale ? Did any angry and savage passions agitate his 
bosom or darken the horizon of his understanding on criminal 
law? O no sir, no spot ever soiled the holy ermine of his office; 
mild, patient, benevolent — halcyon peace in his breast, with a mind 
beaming the effulgence of noon-day and with a seraph's soul, he 
sat on the bench like a descended God ! Yet that judge has laid 
down the doctrine for which I contend, in terms as distinct and 
emphatic as those of Lord Coke. In 1 Hale, 214. ' But if many 
conspire to counterfeit, or counsel, or abet it, and one of them doth 
the fact upon that counselling or conspiracy, it is treason in all, 
and they may be all indicted for counterfeiting generally, within 
this statute, for in such case in treason all are principals.' 

^ * tF r?F ^ tP 

" It is true that Judge Tucker has very elaborately discussed this 
subject and combated the doctrine that all are principals. I admit 
the truth of all the encomiums which the counsel for the defendant 
have pronounced upon that gentleman. He has all the illumina- 
tion of mind and all the virtues of the heart, which those gentle- 
men, with the view of enhancing the weight of his authority, have 
been pleased to ascribe to him. What they have said of him from 
policy, I can say of him from my heart, for I know it to be true. 
Yet give me leave, sir, very briefly to examine his argument upon 
this subject. His object is to prove, that the position, that ' in 
high treason, all are principals,' is not law in England. The 
mode which he adopts to prove his point is this : He collates all 
the authorities Avhich have supported this doctrine, and tracing it 
up with patient and laborious perseverance, with the view '■petere 
forties,'' he finds the first spring in the reign of Henry VI. That 
case is reported in the year-book, 1 Hen. 6, 5, and is very nearly 
as stated by Mr. Tucker from Stanford. It is the case of a man, 
who broke prison and let out traitors. Stanford says it was 
adjudged petit treason ; the year-books merely say that he was 
dra\vn and hanged. A sentence in those days, when the notions 
and punishment of treason (notwithstanding the statute of Edward) 
remained still unsettled, is no very unequivocal proof that his 
crime was petit treason. 

* vF ^ W "^ ^ 'T^ 



188 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1S07. 



" The gentleman next read the case of Sir Nicholas Throgmor- 
ton's suOerings, as they are presented as a Gorgon's head by Judge 
Tucker, not as an illustration of the law, but by way of exciting 
our horror against a corrupt judge. We do not rely upon the 
authority of that case. What can be the motives which the gen- 
tleman had in view, in reading this case with a countenance and 
cadence of such peculiar pathos ? Was it to excite our sympa- 
thies, under the hope that our apprehensions and feelings when 
once set afloat might, for the want of some other living object, be 
graciously transferred to his client ? 

" It was with the same view, I presume, that the gentleman gave 
us the pathetic and aflecting story of lady Lisle, as it is touched 
by the elegant, chaste and delicate pencil of Hume. It was with 
the same views, also, that he recited from the same author, the 
deep, perfidious and bloody horrors of a Kirk and a Jetferies. 
Sensible that there Avas nothing in the virtues of his client or in 
this cause to interest us, he borrowed the sufferings and the virtues 
of a Throgmorton and a lady Lisle, to enlist our affections and set 
our hearts a bleeding, hoping that our pity thus excited might be 
transferred and attached to his client. I hope that we feel as 
much liorror at the infernal depravity of Judge Bromley and the 
sanguinary and execrable tyranny of Judge Jefferies as they or any 
other gentlemen can feel. But these cases do not apply to merci- 
ful and immaculate judges. We cannot think it very compli- 
mentary or respectful to this court, to adduce such cases. They 
seem to be held up in terrorem, from an apprehension that their 
authority would be admitted here, but we apprehend no such con- 
sequence. 

" But he says that since the revolution of 1688, the British de- 
cisions have leaned the other w^ay, and go to shew that accesso- 
rial acts do not make a principal in treason. How is this conclu- 
sion obtained? By any adjudged case? No. By any obiter 
dictum of a judge? No. How then does the gentleman support 
the idea of this change in the English law ? He has drawn the 
reference from the impunity of those who aided the Pretender, 
who fought his battles or aided him in his flight. This is a new 
way of settling legal principles. Sir, this was the mere policy of 
the house of Hanover. The pretensions of the Stuarts had di- 
vided the British nation. Tlieir adherents were many and zeal- 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 189 

ous. Their pretensions were crushed in battle. Two courses 
were open to the reigning monarch : either by clemency and for- 
bearance, to assuage the animosity of his enemies and brace his 
throne with the alfections of his people; or to pursue his enemies 
with vengeance, to drive them to desperation; to disgust his 
friends by needless and wanton cruelty, and to unsettle and float 
his throne in the blood of his subjects. He chose the former 
course ; and because either from magnanimity or policy, or both, 
he spared them, he supposes that the law of treason was changed, 
and that they could not be punished. To prevent this inference, 
according to the reasoning of the gentleman, it was necessary to 
have beheaded or hung up every human being who even aided the 
unfortunate Charles in his flight. Mr. Wickham has mentioned 
Miss Macdonald; and he would have the monarch to have ha- 
zarded the indignation and revolt of a generous people, by seizing 
that beautiful and romantic enthusiast, Flora Macdonald, and drag- 
ging her from her native mountains in the isle of Sky to a prison 
and to death ! The truth is, as we are told by Doctor Johnson in 
his tour to the Hebrides, that this step, impolitic as it was, never- 
theless was hazarded, though but partially. She was carried to 
London, but, together with M'Cleod who had aided in the same 
flight, was dismissed on the pretext of the want of evidence. But 
certainly the forbearance of the house of Hanover to punish under 
an existing law is no argument of the change of that law." 

The argument here runs into a long and minute course of rea- 
soning, and examination of authorities upon the law relating to 
principals and accessories, from which I forbear to make extracts. 

We proceed to other passages of more interest. In one of 
these the reader will recognize a portion of the speech which has 
been often quoted for the vivid and felicitous picture it presents of 
the principal coadjutor in the conspiracy, and its prominent vic- 
tim — Herman Blannerhasset. To this poetical tribute of the pro- 
secuting counsel, which the newspaper press of the day made so 
popular through the country, we may ascribe, in great part, that 
large amount of public sympathy by which Blannerhasset's parti- 
cipation in the nefarious scheme was palliated and excused. 

" I come now, sir, to the gentleman's third point, in which he 
says he cannot possibly fail. It is this : 'because if the prisoner 
be a principal in the treason at all, he is a principal in the second 



190 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

degree; and his guilt being of that kind which is termed deriva- 
tive, no further parol evidence can be let in to charge him, until 
we shew a record of the conviction of the principals in the first 
degree.' 

" By this I understand the gentleman to advance, in other terms, 
the common law doctrine, that when a man is rendered a principal 
in treason, by acts which would make him an accessory in felony, 
he cannot be tried before the principal in the first degree. 

" I understand this to be the doctrine of the common law, as 
established by all the authorities; but when I concede this point, 
I insist that it can have no effect in favor of the accused, for two 
reasons: 1st. Because it is the mere creature of the common law. 

"2dly. Because if the common law of England be our law, this 
position assumes what is denied, that the conduct of the prisoner 
in this case is of an accessorial nature or such as would make him 
an accessory in felony. 

" First. Because this position is the mere creature of the com- 
mon law. If it be so, no consequence can be deduced from it. 
It is sufficient, on this branch of the subject, to take his own de- 
claration, that the common law does not exist in this country. If 
we examine the Constitution and the act of Congress, we shall find 
that this idea of a distinction between principals in the first and 
second degree depends entirely on the common law. Neither the 
Constitution nor the act of Congress knows any such distinction. 
^11 who levy war against the United States, whether present or 
absent — all who are leagued in the conspiracy, whether on the 
spot of the assemblage or performing some minute and inconsider- 
able part in it, a thousand miles from the scene of action, incur 
equally the sentence of the law: they are all equally traitors. 
This scale, therefore, which graduates the guilt of the offenders 
and establishes the order of their respective trials, if it ever ex- 
isted here, is completely abrogated by the highest authorities in 
this country. The Convention which formed the Constitution and 
defined treason, Congress which legislated on that subject, and the 
Supreme Judiciary of the country expounding the Constitution and 
the law, have united in its abrogation. But let us for a moment 
put tiie Convention, Congress and the Judiciary aside, and examine 
how the case will stand. Still this scale of moral guilt, which 
Mr. Wickham has given us, is the creature of the common laic. 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 191 

which as already observed, he himself in another branch of his 
argument Jias emphatically told us does not exist in this country. 
He has stated that the creature presupposes the creator, and that 
where the creator does not exist, the creature cannot. The com- 
mon law then being the creator of the rule which Mr. Wickham 
has given us, and that common law not existing in this country, 
neither can the rule which is the mere creature of it exist in this 
country. So that the gentleman has himself furnished the argu- 
ment, which refutes this infallible point of his, on which he has 
so much relied. But to try this position to its utmost extent, let 
us not only put aside the Constitution and act of Congress and de- 
cision of the Supreme Court, but let us admit that the common law 
does exist here. Still before the principle could apply, it would 
remain to be proven, that the conduct of the prisoner in this case 
has been accessorial ; or in other words, that his acts in relation to 
this treason are of such a nature as would make him an accessory 
in felony. 

"But is this the case.'' It is a mere petitio principii. It is 
denied that his acts are such as would make him an accessory in 
felony. I have already, in another branch of this subject, en- 
deavored to shew on the grounds of authority and reason, that a 
man might be involved in the guilt of treason as a principal by 
being kf^ally though not actually present ; that treason occupied a 
much wider space than felony ; that the scale of proximity be- 
tween the accessory and the principal must be extended in pro- 
portion to the extent of the theatre of the treason ; and that as the 
prisoner must be considered as legally present, he could not be an 
accessory but a principal. If I have succeeded in this, I have in 
fact proved that his conduct cannot be deemed accessorial. But 
an error has taken place from considering the scene of the overt 
act as the theatre of the treason, from mistaking the overt act foi 
the treason itself, and consequently from referring the conduct of 
the prisoner to the acts on the island. The conduct of Aaron Burr 
has been considered in relation to the overt act on Blannerhasset's 
island only ; whereas it ought to be considered in connexion with 
the grand design, the deep plot of seizing Orleans, separating the 
Union, and establishing an independent empire in the west, of 
which the prisoner was to be the chief It ought to be recollected 
that these were his objects, and that the whole western country 



192 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

from Beaver to Orleans, was the theatre of his treasonable opera- 
tions. It is by this first reasoning that you are to consider whether 
he be a principal or an accessory, and not by limiting your in- 
quiries to the circumscribed and narrow spot in the island where 
the acts charged happened to be performed. Having shewn, I 
think, on the ground of law^ that the prisoner cannot be consid- 
ered as an accessory, let me press the inquiry, whether on the 
ground of reason he be a principal or an accessory ; and remem- 
ber that his project was to seize New Orleans, separate the Union, 
and erect an independent empire in the west, of which he was to 
be the chief This was the destination of the plot and the con- 
clusion of the drama. Will any man say that Blannerhasset was 
the principal, and Burr but an accessory ? Who will believe that 
Burr, the author and projector of the plot, who raised the forces, 
who enlisted the men, and who procured the funds for carrying it 
into execution, was made a cafs paw of.'' Will any man believe 
that Burr, who is a soldier bold, ardent, restless and aspiring, the 
great actor whose brain conceived and whose hand brought the 
plot into operation, that he should sink down into an accessory, 
and that Blannerhasset should be elevated into a principal .'' He 
would startle at once at tlie thought. Aaron Burr, the contriver 
of the whole conspiracy, to every body concerned in it, was as the 
sun to the planets which surround him. Did he not bind them in 
their respective orbits and give them their light, their heat and 
their motion? Yet he is to be considered an accessory, and Blan- 
nerhasset is to be the principal ! 

" Let us put the case between Burr and Blannerhasset. Let us 
compare the two men and settle this question of precedence be- 
tween them. It may save a good deal of troublesome ceremony 
hereafter. 

" Who Aaron Burr is, we have seen, in part, already. I will 
add, that beginning his operations in New York, he associates 
with him men whose wealth is to supply the necessary funds. 
Possessed of the main spring, his personal labor contrives all the 
machinery. Pervading the continent from New York to New 
Orleans, he draws into his plan, by every allurement which he 
can contrive, men of all ranks and descriptions. To youthful 
ardor he presents danger and glory ; to ambition, rank and titles 
and honors ; to avarice the mines of Mexico. To each person 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 193 

whom he addresses he presents the object adapted to his taste. 
His recruiting ollicers are appointed. Men are engaged through- 
out the continent. Civil life is, indeed, quiet upon its surface, but 
in its bosom this man has contrived to deposit the materials which, 
with the slightest touch of his match, produce an explosion to 
shake the continent. All this his restless ambition has contrived ; 
and in the autumn of 180G, he goes forth, for the last time, to 
apply this match. On this occasion he meets with Blannerhasset. 
" Who is Blannerhasset.'' A native of Ireland, a man of letters, 
who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. 
His history shows that war is not the natural element of his mind. 
If it had been, he never would have exchanged Ireland for 
America. So far is an army from furnishing the society natural 
and proper to Mr. Blannerhasset's character, that on his arrival in 
America, he retired even from the population of the Atlantic 
states, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western 
forests. But he carried with him taste and science and wealth ; 
and lo, the desert smiled ! Possessing himself of a beautiful island 
in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace and decorates it with every 
romantic embellishment of fancy, A shrubbery, that Shenstone 
might have envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have 
charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library 
spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers 
to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity 
and innocence shed their mingled delights around him. And to 
crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be 
lovely even beyond her sex and graced with every accomplish- 
ment that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love 
and made him the father of several children. The evidence 
would convince you, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. 
In the midst of all this peace, this innocent simplicity and this tran- 
quillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, the 
destroyer comes ; he comes to change this paradise into a hell. 
Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach. No monitory 
shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns 
him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A stranger presents 
himself. Introduced to their civilities by the liigh rank which he 
had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their 
hearts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and 
VOL. 1—17 



194 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

beauty of his conversation and the seductive and fascinating power 
of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is 
ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself, it sus- 
pects none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every 
door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all 
who choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden when the 
serpent entered its bowers. The prisoner, in a more engaging 
form, winding himself into the open and unpractised heart of the 
unfortunate Blannerhasset, found but little dilficulty in changing the 
native character of that heart and the objects of its affection. By 
degrees, he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He 
breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and desper- 
ate thirst for glory ; an ardour panting for great enterprises, for 
all the storm and bustle and hurricane of life. In a short time 
the w^hole man is changed, and every object of his former delight 
is relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene ; it has be- 
come flat and insipid to his taste. His books are abandoned. His 
retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and 
breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain; he likes it not. His 
ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music ; it longs for the 
trumpet's clangor and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his 
babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him ; and the angel smile 
of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so un- 
speakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken 
possession of his soul. His imagination has been dazzled by 
visions of diadems, of stars and garters and titles of nobility. He 
has been tau2:ht to burn with restless emulation at the names of 
great heroes and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined 
soon to relapse into a wilderness •, and in a few months we find 
the beautiful and tender partner of his bosom, whom he lately 
' permitted not the winds of summer ' to visit too roughly' we find 
her shivering at midnight, on the wintery banks of the Ohio and 
mingling her tears with the torrents, that froze as they fell. Yet 
this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his hap- 
piness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and ])eace, thus 
confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for him, and 
overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another — this 
man, thus ruined and undone and made to play a subordinate part 
in this grand drama of guilt and treason, this man is to be called 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 105 

the principal olFender, while /le, by whom he was thus plunged in 
misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this 
reason.-* Is it law.'' Is it humanity? Sir, neither the human 
lieart nor the human understanding will bear a perversion so 
monstrous and absurd! so shocking to the soul! so revolting to 
reason ! Let Aaron Burr then not shrink from the high destina- 
tion which he has courted, and having already ruined Blannerhas- 
set in fortune, character and happiness forever, let iiim not attempt 
to finish the tragedy by thrusting that ill-fated man between him- 
self and punishment. 

"Upon the whole, sir,' reason declares Aaron Burr the principal 
iu this crime and confirms herein the sentence of the law ; and the 
gentleman, in saying that his offence is of a derivative and acces- 
sorial nature, begs the question and draws his conclusions from 
what, instead of being conceded, is denied. It is clear from what 
has been said, that Burr did not derive his guilt from the men on 
the island, but imparted his own guilt to them ; that he is not an 
accessory but a principal ; and therefore, that there is nothing in 
the objection which demands a record of their conviction before 
we shall go on wdth our proof against him. 

" The question then is, whether, all these things admitted, the 
assemblage on the island were an overt act of levying war. Here, 
sir, are we forced most reluctantly to argue to the court, on only 
a part of the evidence, in presence of the jury, before they have 
heard the rest of the evidence, which might go a great way to 
explain or alter its effect. But unpleasant as the question is in 
this way, we must meet it. What is an open act of levying war .'' 
To which we are obliged to answer, that it must be decided by 
the Constitution and act of Congress. 

" Gentlemen on the other side, speaking on this subject, have 
asked us for battles, bloody battles, hard knocks, the noise of 
cannon. ' Shew us your open acts of war,' they exclaim. Hard 
knocks, says one, are things Ave can all feel and understand. 
Where was the open deed of war, this bloody battle, this bloody 
war ? cries another. No where, gentlemen. There was no bloody 
battle. There was no bloody war. The energy of a despised 
and traduced government prevented that tragical consequence. 
In reply to all this blustering and clamor for blood and havoc, let 



196 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1S07. 

me ask calmly and temperately, does our Constitution and act of 
Congress require them? Can treason be committed by nothing 
short of actual battle ? Mr. Wickham, shrinking from a position 
so bold and indefensible, has said that if there be not actual force, 
there must be at least potential force, such as terror and intimi- 
dation struck by the treasonable assemblage. We will examine 
this idea presently. Let us, at this moment, recur to the constitu- 
tional definition of treason, or to so much thereof as relates to this 
case. ' Treason against the United States shall consist only in 
levying war against them,' not in making war, but in levying it. 
The whole question then turns on the meaning of that word, 
levying. This word, however, the gentlemen on the other side 
have artfully dropped : as if conscious of its operation against 
them, they have entirely omitted to use it. 

" We know that ours is a motley language, variegated and en- 
riched by the plunder of many foreign stores. When Ave derive 
a word from the Greek, the Latin or any other foreign language, 
living or dead, philologists have always thought it most safe and 
correct to go to the original language, for the purpose of ascer- 
taining the precise meaning of such word. Levy, we are told by 
all our lexicographers, is a word of French origin. It is proper, 
therefore, that we should turn to the dictionary of that language 
to ascertain its true and real meaning ; and I believe we shall not 
find that when applied to war, it ever means to fight, as the gentle- 
men on the other side would have us to believe. Boyer's Dic- 
tionary is before me, sir, and I am the more encouraged to appeal 
to him, because in the case of Bollman and Swartwout, your 
Honor, in estimating the import of this very word, thought it not 
improper to refer to the authority of Dr. Johnson. 

"' Letter, ' the verb active, signifies, according to Boyer, 'to 
lift, heave, hold or raise up.' Under the verb he has no phrase 
apj)licable to our purpose : but under the substantive Zet^ee, he has 
several. I will give you them all. 

" Levee d\m siege, the raising of a siege. Levee des fruits, 
gathering of fruits, crop, harvest. 

" La levee du parlement Britannique, the rising or recess of the 
British Parliament. Levee (collccte de deniers) a levy-raising or 
gathering. 



CHAP. XIV. AVIRT'S SPEECH. 197 

" Levee de gens de guerre, levying, levy, or raising of soldiers. 
Faire des levies de soldats, to levy or raise soldiers. 

" So that when applied to fruits or taxes, it means gathering as 
well as raising. When applied to soldiers it means raising only; 
not gathering, assembling or even bringing them together, but 
merely raising. Johnson takes both these meanings, as you men- 
tioned in the case of Boll man and Swartwout ; but in the original 
language, we see that levying, when applied to soldiers, means 
simply the raising them, without any thing further. In military 
matters, levying and raising, if Boyer may be trusted, are syno- 
nymous. 

"But to ascertain still more satisfactorily the meaning of this 
word levy, let us look to the source from which we have bor- 
rowed the Avhole definition of treason, the statute of 25 Edward 
III. The statute is in Norman French, and, in describing the 
treason of levying war, uses these words ; ' Si home leve de guerre, 
contre noslre seigneur le roy en son royalme.'' 

" In a subsequent reign, I mean the factious and turbulent reign 
of Richard II, when the statute of Edward, although unrepealed, 
was forgotten, lost and buried under the billows of party rage and 
vengeance, it became, at length, necessary for parliament to inter- 
fere and break in pieces the engine of destructive treason; and in 
the 21st year of Richard II, a statute was passed, which may be 
considered as a parliamentary construction of that of Edward III. 
In that statute, the treason of levying war is thus explained, ' Celuy 
que levy le people et chevache encounter le roy u faire guerre 
deins son realme.'' Here the French verb, leve, is the same as that 
used in the statute of Edward, with an unimportant orthographic 
variation ; and here it is clearly contradistinguished from the 
actual war. The levy is of men and horses, for the purpose of 
making xmr ; and the levy would have been complete, although 
the purpose had never been executed. I consider, therefore, the 
statute of Richard, as not only adding another authority to Boyer, 
to prove that the extent of the French verb lever, when applied to 
soldiers, goes no farther than the raising them ; but I consider that 
statute also as a parliamentary exposition or glossary of the phrase 

levy de guerre, in the statute of Edward. 

****** 

VOL. 1 — 17* 



198 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

" Mr, Lee says, that hard knocks are things we can all feel, yet 
it is equally true that an assemblage of men is an object we can 
all see. True it is, as the gentleman says, that cannons and small 
arms may be heard; and so may the disclosure of a treasonable 
plot. At last, the overt act which they require is but an appeal 
to the human senses; and the overt act which we have proven is 
equally satisfactory to them. Why do they insist on calling in the 
sense of feeling to the sense of hearing.'' He may say, if we 
were to feel it, that we must also taste and smell it. Mr. Wick- 
ham indeed complains, that if you stop him short of actual force, 
you take away the locus pcenitenlifc. I say, if you do not stop 
short of it, you take away the motive of repentance; for you 
offer the traitor victory and triumph, and it is not in their arms 
that we are to expect from him repentance. But was there, sir, 
no opportunity for repentance in this case } We shall prove that 
the prisoner was for more than a year brooding over this treason. 
The ruin and desolation that he was about to bring upon this coun- 
try must have been often before him. If all love of his country 
were so far extinguished in his breast, that he could not forbear, 
if the downfall of liberty and the horrors of civil war gave no 
pang of remorse to his bosom, why, for his own sake, did he not 
repent.'' Why did he not remember Cromwell and the treason 
and fate of Csesar.^ — Cromwell, as bold and daring as himself; 
the miserable effects of his successful usurpation; the terrors that 
liaunted and scourged him day and night, and blasted him even 
amidst the splendor of a palace. Csesar and Cromwell he did not 
forget; but he remembered them as objects of competition and 
rivalship ; not to detest and abhor, but to envy, admire and emu- 
late. Such was the kind of remorse which he felt at the idea of 
drenching his country in blood and substituting despotism for 
liberty; such the very promising disposition and temper for re- 
pentance which alone he manifested. 

'■• Mr. Randolph wishes to know how the line can be drawn be- 
tween enlisting and striking a blow. The answer is obvious : At 
the point of the assemblage, where the courts of England and the 
iiighest court in this country have concurred in drawing it. A line 
strong and plain enough to be seen and known is drawn. Does 
reason, sir, require that you should wait until the blow be struck.' 
If so, adieu to the law of treason and to the chance of punish- 



CHAP. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 199 

ment. The aspiring traitor has only to lay his plans, assemble 
his forces and strike no blow till he be in such power as to defy 
resistance. He understands the law of treason. He draws a line 
of demarkation for the purpose of keeping within the boundary 
of the law. He projects an enterprise of treason. He enlists 
men. He directs all the operations essential to its success from 
one end of the continent to the other ; but he keeps himself within 
the pale of the law. He goes on continually acquiring accessions 
of strength, like a snowball on the side of a mountain, till he be- 
comes too large for resistance and sweeps everything before him. 
He does everything short of striking a blow. He advances till 
he gets to New Orleans. He does not hazard the blow till he is 
completely ready; and when he does strike, it will be absolutely 
irresistible. Then what becomes of your Constitution, your law 
of Congress or your courts .'' He laughs them to scorn. Is this 
the way to discourage treason? Is it not the best way to excite 
and promote it } to insure it the most complete success } I con- 
clude, therefore, that reason does not require force to constitute 
treason. 

******* 
"This court then having itself decided, that the question, whether 
there have been an overt act or not, belongs essentially to the 
jury, it is strange that the prisoner should persist in pressing it on 
the court. What does he mean by calling on the court to decide 
on the fact of levying war.'' Have you the power, sir? I should 
like to know where the authority can be found to prove that you 
have it? And suppose the court thinks it has this power and 
should exert it, what will be the consequences? Will it not take 
away from the jury their acknowledged right of deciding on facts ? 
But the anxious perseverance of the prisoner in this course cer- 
tainly implies a reflection, either on the jury or the court : it im- 
plies either that the jury will not do him justice, or that the court 
will do him more than justice. If he believed the jury would do 
him justice, and wished nothing more, he would be content to leave 
his case to them. If he believed they w^ould not do him justice, 
and he therefore tries to force his cause before the court, whether 
it will or no, I may truly say, that he exhibits a phenomenon un- 
precedented upon this earth : a man flying from a jury of his peers 
to take refuge under the wings of the court ! Sir, I can never 



200 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1S07. 

think so ill of my countrymen as to believe, that innocence need 
t^y from them; nor will my respect for the court permit me, for a 
moment, to apprehend that it will invade the peculiar and acknow- 
ledged province of the jury. This court well knows that my 
respect for its members, as private gentlemen and oflicially, is too 
great to apprehend that remarks of a general nature will be 
applied to them. But if, at this period, when tlie bench is so dis- 
tinguished by intellectual power and superior illumination, a pre- 
cedent be set, by which the great fact in trial for life and death shall 
be wrested from the jury and decided by the bench, what use may 
not be made of it hereafter.'' In the fluctuations of party, in the 
bitterness of rancor and political animosity, the judges may lead 
juries to one side or the other, as they may think proper. They 
may dictate as to the existence of an overt act, and thus decide the 
fate of a prisoner. If a judge sitting on the bench shall decide on 
facts as well as law in a prosecution for treason, he may sacrifice 
or rescue whom he pleases. If he be a jjolitical partisan, he may 
save his friends from merited punishment or blast his foes unjustly. 
If judges in future times, not having the feelings of humanity and 
])alriotism which they have in these days, but animated by the 
zeal and factious spirit of party, to promote the views of party, 
shall have the power now proposed to be exercised, what will be 
the posture and fate of this country then ? If you establish this 
precedent, some tyrant Bromley or some rufi'an Jcfferies may 
mount the bench. Can the soul look forward without horror to 
the dark and bloody deeds which he might perpetrate, armed with 
such a precedent as you are now called on to set? But you will 
not set it, sir. You will not bring your country to see an hour so 
fearful and perilous as that which shall witness the ruin of the 
trial by jury. I shudder to reflect what might be the consequences 
of such an hour. You will cast your eyes into futurity, and fore- 
seeing the calamities that must result from so dangerous an ex- 
ample, will avoid it. You will be satisfied that neither reason nor 
the laws of England or of this country support the doctrine, that 
you have the power to prevent this jury from proceeding in their 
inquiry, merely, because your mind is satisfied that the overt act is 
not proved. 

" All the distinctions, which Mr. Wickham and Mr. Randolph 
have taken, have gone on the dangers of constructive treason. 



CHAP. XIV] WIRT'S SPEECH. 201 

All their apprehensions on this subject seem to me to be perfectly- 
visionary. They appear to result from this mistake: They look 
at the dangers of constructive treason under the common law, an- 
terior to the statute of Edward, They look into the terrors ex- 
pressed by Hale when he enumerates the many various kinds of 
treason, before that statute limited the number. The meaning of 
constructive treason is generally misconceived. It is well explained 
in 1 Easfs Crown Laic, p. 72; '■Constructive levying of tear is in 
truth more directed against the government than the person of the 
king, though in legal construction, it is a levying of war against 
the king himself. This is when an insurrection is raised to reform 
some national grievance, to alter the established laws or religion, 
to punish magistrates, to introduce innovations of a public concern, 
to obstruct the execution of some general law, by an armed force, 
or for any other purpose ichich usurps the government in matters of 
a public and general concern.'' It is therefore true, as laid down 
by Mr. Rawle in Fries''s trial, p. 161, 'that what in England is 
called constructive levying of war, in this country must be called 
direct levying of war.' Although this seems not to be assented to 
by Judge Tucker, (Ath Tucker'' s Blackstone Jlppendix, 13-14,^ 
possibly because he did not examine that point as thoroughly as 
he did the doctrine of treason generally. 

Before that statute passed, the dangers resulting from arbitrary 
constructions of treason were great and grievous, and the com- 
plaints against them as vehement as they were just. Levying war 
in England against the king or his government, the ' crimen Icesce 
majestatis,'' consists of direct and express levying of war against 
the king's natural person ; constructive levying it against his gov- 
ernment or his authority in his political person. In America, the 
crime is defined in the Constitution. It consists in levying war 
against the United Slates. In England, it consists in an opposition 
to the king's authority or prerogative. Here it is against the 
Constitution and government. In England, when it is intended 
against the life of the prince, it may consist in mere imagination, 
in the mere design or intent of the mind. But in this country the 
oflence is against the government, ihe political person only; and it 
is actual war. As it is against the government, not against a 
natural person, it may be said to be constructive. But constructive 
interpretations of treason, which produced so much terror and 



202 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

alarm formerly in England, and against the abuses of which gen- 
tlemen have declaimed so pathetically, cannot take place in this 
country. They are expressly excluded by the Constitution. Upon 
the whole, I contend, that the meeting on Blannerhasset's island, 
the intention of which is proven to be traitorous, was an act of 
treason ; that the assemblage, with such intention, was sufficient 
for that purpose. And if it were not sufficient, this court cannot 
stop the proceedings. The jury must proceed with the inquiry. 

"I have finished what I had to say. I beg pardon for consuming 
the time of the court so long. I thank it for its patient and polite 
attention. I am too much exhausted to recapitulate, and to such a 
court as this is, I am sure it is unnecessary." 

This is an exhibition of some of the most prominent passages, of 
a speech which fills seventy pages of an octavo volume, and which 
occupied several hours in the delivery. I have excluded from 
these extracts a large portion of the argument which dealing, 
principally, in minute discriminations of technical law, and in the 
analysis of legal decisions, could scarcely be expected to interest 
the general reader, and which would be still less satisfactory to 
members of the legal profession who have familiar access to the 
full report of the trial. 

It may be remarked of this speech, that having been made at a 
time when the speaker was yet in the vigor of youthful manhood, 
and somewhat noted for the vivacity of his imagination and the 
warmth of his feelings, he may be supposed to have made this 
eflbrt at disadvantage, under the restraints necessarily imposed 
upon him by the nature of the subject and the forum to which he 
spoke. It was an argument upon mere questions of law, suffi- 
ciently abstruse and technical in their nature to forbid any very 
free excursion of the fancy, and to defy the attractions of declama- 
tion. The orator, addressing himself to the most severe and dis- 
ciplined mind in the judiciary of the nation, doubtless felt his 
inclination constantly rebuked by the presence in which he stood. 
He could not lose the consciousness of an ever present constraint 
imposed upon him by the place, and the subject, both exacting logi- 
cal precision and compact legal deduction. We cannot but remark, 
in the perusal of the speech, how apparent is the inclination of the 
speaker to escape from this thraldom, and to recreate his mind in 
the more congenial fields of rhetorical display ; and liow obviously 



CHAP. XIV.] TESTIMONY OF MR. MERCER. 203 

he has felt the exigency of the argument, like a stone tied to the 
wings of his fancy to bring iiim quickly back, on every flight, to 
the labor of his task. At that period in the life of William Wirt, 
his forensic fame was much more connected with his eflforts before 
a jury, than in discussions addressed to the bench ; and we cannot 
help feeling some regret, while speculating upon the peculiar 
power of the advocate and looking alone to our own satisfaction, 
that this celebrated and important trial had not offered him an 
occasion to argue the questions of fact with which it abounded, as 
well as the points of law to which we have adverted. 

The description of the abode of Blannerhasset which furnished 
a legitimate opportunity to the indulgence of Mr. Wirt's peculiar 
vein of eloquence in this trial, seems to have inspired one of the 
witnesses with the same fervor of poetical rapture in giving a 
sketch of this woodland paradise. 

A most estimable gentleman, who is yet alive to recall to 
memory the scenes which so attracted his youthful fancy, — Mr. 
Charles Fenton Mercer, had visited the island, upon the invitation 
of its proprietor, just at the time when the conspiracy was said to 
be nearest its point of explosion. As he had seen nothing on this 
visit calculated to awaken his alarm for the peace of the country, 
his testimony was introduced into the trial for the misdemeanor, 
which immediately followed the acquittal on the charge of treason. 
This testimony was recorded in a written deposition, a few 
extracts from which will gratify the reader by enabling him to 
compare Mr, Wirt's glowing picture with the actual impression 
which the scene made upon Mr. Mercer. 

" On Saturday evening, the sixth day of December, this de- 
ponent arrived, in the course of his journey home, at the shore of 
Ohio, opposite to the island of Mr. Blannerhasset; and having first 
learned, with some surprise, that Mr. Blannerhasset was yet on 
the island, crossed over to his house in a violent storm of wind 
and rain. That evening and the following day he spent at the 
most elegant seat in Virginia, in the society of Mr. Blannerhasset 
and his lovely and accomplished lady. 

******* 

" This deponent having expressed a desire to become the pur- 
chaser of Mr. Blannerhasset's farm, he had the goodness to show 
him the plan and arrangements of his house. Every room in it 



204 TESTIMONY OF MR. MERCER. [1807. 

was opened to his inspection. As he walked through its diiferent 
apartments, the proprietor frequently apologized for the confusion 
into Avhich his furniture was thrown by his preparation for leaving 
it ; and observed that the greater part of his furniture, his musical 
instruments, and his library containing several thousand volumes 
of books, were packed up for his immediate removal. 

TT TT TV JT Tp TP tF 

" Mr. Blannerhasset having intended, before deponent reached 
his house, to visit Marietta on Sunday evening, the deponent 
availed himself of a double motive to quit this attractive spot. 
He did not leave it, however, without regretting that the engage- 
ments of its proprietor, and his own dreary journey, but just begun 
in the commencement of winter, forbade him to prolong a visit 
which, although so transient, had afforded him so much pleasure. 
* * * All that he had seen, heard or felt, 

corresponded so little with the criminal designs imputed to Mr. 
Blannerhasset, that if he could have visited him with unfavorable 
sentiments, they would have vanished before the light of a species 
of evidence which, if not reducible to the strict rules of legal tes- 
timony, has, nevertheless, a potent influence over all sensitive 
hearts, and which though it possess not the formal sanction, has 
often more truth than oaths or affirmations. What ! will a man 
who, weary of the agitations of the Avorld, of its noise and vanity, 
has unambitiously retired to a solitary island in the heart of a 
desert, and created there a terrestial paradise, the very flowers 
and shrubs and vines of which he has planted, nurtured and reared 
with his own hands ; a man whose soul is accustomed to toil in 
the depths of science and to repose beneath the bowers of litera- 
ture, whose ear is formed to the harmony of sound, and whose 
touch and breath daily awaken it from a variety of melodious in- 
struments; — will such a man start up in the decline of life from 
the pleasing dream of seven years slumber, to carry fire and sword 
to the peaceful habitations of men who have never done him 
wrong? Are his musical instruments and his library to be the 
equipage of a camp ? Will he expose a lovely and accomplished 
woman and two little children, to whom he seems so tenderly at- 
tached, to the guilt of treason and the horrors of war ? A treason 
so desperate — a war so unequal ! Were not all his preparations 
better adapted to the innocent and useful purpose which he 



CHAP. XIV.] INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL. 205 

avowed, rather than to the criminal and hazardous enterprise whicii 
was imputed to him ? * * * Such Avere the sentiments 
with which the deponent left the island of Mr. Blannerhasset." 

The reader will smile at this rapture of enthusiasm in an 
affidavit, and weigh, with many grains of allowance, the warm- 
hearted friendship of a young votary fascinated by the attractions 
of this Eden in the wilderness; but no one will smile more good- 
naturedly at it than the worthy author of it himself, who has lived 
long enough to repress the fervors of his imagination, though not 
to quench the generous and benevolent instincts of his heart. 

A few more brief references to these trials, and we shall dis- 
miss the subject. 

These relate to minor incidents which transpired in the course 
of the long examinations of testimony, and are only noticed to 
shew the temper in which the parties stood to each other and to 
some of the more prominent witnesses. 

General Wilkinson is under examination : 

" Mr. Botts, (speaking to the witness.) — When you are about 
to show a paper, you will please submit it to our inspection. 

" General Wilkinson. — I shall be governed by the Judge in 
that respect. 

" Mr. Botts. — Then we shall request the Judge to govern you 
in that respect." 

Major Bruff was called to the stand — 

"Mr. Wickhaji argued that the testimony of Major BrufF 
was admissible to show an inconsistency in that of General W^il- 
kinson. 

"General Wilkinson. — May I be permitted to make one 
observation ? I am not in the smallest degree surprised at the 
language which has, upon this and several other occasions, been 
used by the counsel of Col. Burr — men who are hired to mis- 
represent. 

" Mr. Wickham. — I will not submit to such language from any 
man in court. 

" The Chief Justice declared the style of General Wilkin- 
son to be improper, and that he had heard too much of such lan- 
guage in court. 

"General Wilkinson apologized." 
Silas Dinsmore is questioned — he says : 
vol. 1—18 



206 INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL. [1S07. 



"General Wilkinson condescended to ask my opinion, having 
previously made a full disclosure of the dangers apprehended, and 
of the measures which he had adopted. I did give my advice in 
favor of seizing every man whom he found opposed to his mea- 
sures. This was after a development of the state of aflairs by 
General Wilkinson. 

" Mr. Martin. — And that not to be depended upon. 

" Mr. Wirt. — That will be a subject of discussion hereafter. 

" Mr. Martin. — I know that. 

" Mr. Wirt, (in alow tone of voice to Mr. M.) — You knoiv a 
good deal of these things.'''' 

The following is in a pleasanter key, and to those who inti- 
mately knew Mr. Wirt, and remember that constant tendency to 
playfulness, which seemed to break forth even in his gravest mo- 
ments and out of the bosom of his deepest study, it will bring 
him vividly to mind. His friends will recall the musical voice 
and the quiet humor that, like a ray of mellow sunshine, lit up his 
eye, when an occasion for a laugh might be found in the course of 

a trial. 

A fifer, by the name of Gates, was under cross-examination. 
Some boats had been seized near Marietta. Gates was a militia- 
man on duty against the conspirators, and saw the seizure of the 

boats. 

" Mr. Wirt. — As far as I understand you, you were called on 

to attack the boats ? 
" Answer. — Yes. 

" Mr. Wirt. — And you were called on to carry a musket i 
" Answer. — Yes. 

" Mr. Wirt. — And you were unwilling to do it.'' 
" Answer. — Yes. 
" Mr. Wirt. — That is, you were willing to whistle and not to 



fight? 



" Answer. — Yes." 



CHAPTER XV. 

18 07. 

PUBLIC AGITATION THE AFFAIR OF THE LEOPARD AND CHESAPEAKH.— EX- 
PECTATION OP WAR FOURTH OF JULY.— LETTER TO JUDGE TUCKER.— 

WIRT PROJECTS THE RAISING OF A LEGION CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR 

IN REGARD TO IT.— THE PROJECT MEETS OPPOSITION FINALLY ABAN- 
DONED WAR ARRESTED.— THE EMBARGO. 

The country was agitated, in 1807, by other events of liigher 
political import than Burr's conspiracy. 

A sentiment of hostility against England, provoked by her in- 
x'asion of the neutral rights of American commerce with the con- 
tinent of Europe, in the right of search, as it was then asserted, 
and by the impressment of American seamen under the flag of 
the United States, had been growing, for some few years, to such 
a predominance in the breast of the nation, as to render war a 
probable result, and a subject of popular comment. The failure 
of Messrs. Monroe and Pinkney to adjust these questions, and the 
refusal of Mr. Jeflerson even to submit to the Senate the unsatis- 
factory treaty they had negotiated, contributed to increase the 
probability of a resort to arms. 

The outrage perpetrated, at this juncture, upon the national 
flag, in the aggression of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake, was, 
in itself, an insult of such flagrant enormity, as to rouse the uni- 
versal indignation of the people to a demand for instant reparation. 
All previous topics of quarrel were merged in this, and nothing 
but the prompt and vigorous measures taken by Mr. Jefferson, at 
the moment, restrained the country from an immediate declaration 
of war. 

It was on the 22d of June, when the Chesapeake frigate, 
standing out to sea from Norfolk, passed a British squadron at 
anchor in Lynnhaven bay. The Leopard, a frigate of fifty guns, 
belonging to the squadron, followed her, and overhauled her, 
within a k\v miles of Cape Henry. Here a boat was sent with 



208 THE LEOPARD AND CHESAPEAKE. [1807. 

an otficer and several men, to demand of Captain Barron the sur- 
render of three men, who were said to be aboard the Chesapeake, 
and who were claimed as native British subjects. Captain Bar- 
ron's reply was, that he knew of no persons of that description 
amongst his crew. Upon receiving this answer, the British fri- 
gate still kept in pursuit of the Chesapeake, — fired, first, one gun, 
and then a broadside into her, which killed and wounded several 
men, besides doing some damage to the spars and rigging of the 
ship. The Chesapeake, being totally unprepared for an encounter 
which she had no reason to expect, was obliged to strike her flag, 
and to submit to the impressment and abduction of four of her 
crew.* The consequences which followed this event, gave a 
stirring interest to the time. 

The President issued a proclamation ordering off the British 
squadron, and interdicting the waters of the United States to all 
British armed vessels. Detachments of militia were ordered to 
Norfolk, to protect that point against a threatened attack. A gov- 
ernment vessel was despatched to London, bearing instructions to 
our minister there to demand the satisfaction and security which 
the recent outrage rendered necessary. Every thing was done 
which the crisis required. 

This reference to the history of a grave national event, may, 
perhaps, appear too stately an introduction to the comparatively 
trivial concern which a private citizen of that day, had in the 
general ferment which it produced. In the humble sphere of indi- 
vidual participation, however, we may often read an authentic 
exposition of national sentiment, and find the temper and spirit of 
the times illustrated quite as forcibly as in narrative of a higher 
cast; — indeed, even more forcibly and with more graphic efliect. 

Richmond became a theatre of great agitation. Those martial 
fires, which slumber in the breast of every community and which 
are so quickly kindled into flame by the breeze of stirring public 

* This unfortunate and mortifying incident has been the subject of too much 
comment to render it necessary to say more of it here ; but, in justice to those who 
were censured for the event, it is proper to add that at the moment of this attack 
the Chesapeake was in a condition wiiich totally disabled her from resistance. She 
had been but a few hours out nf port, and had sailed with lier decks lumbered with 
great quantities of stores unstowed, which were yet in this condition. This disor- 
der, and want of organization in her crew, placed lier entirely at the disposal of her 
enemy. 



CHAP. XV.] EXPECTATION OF WAR. 209 

events, now blazed, .with especial ardor, amongst the youthful and 
venturous spirits of Virginia. Over the whole state, as, indeed, 
over the whole country, that combative principle which lies at the 
heart of all chivalry, began to developc itself in every form in 
which national sensibility is generally exbibited. The people held 
meetings, passed fiery resolutions, ate indignant dinners, drank bil- 
ligerent toasts, and uttered threatening sentiments. Old armories 
were ransacked, old weapons of war were burnished anew, mili- 
tary companies were formed, regimentals were discussed, the drum 
and fife and martial bands of music woke the morning and evening 
echoes of town and country, and the whole land was filled with the 
din, the clamor, the glitter, the array of serried hosts which sprang 
up, like plants of a night, out of the bosom of a peaceful nation. 
The pruning hook was, all of a sudden, converted into a spear. 
Patriotism found a vent in eloquence ; indolence an unwonted 
stimulus in the exciting appeals of the day, and the monotony of 
ordinary life a happy relief in the new duties which sprang out of 
the combination of citizen and soldier. 

Many are now living who remember this fervor. Twenty-five 
years had rolled over the Revolution. The generation which grew 
to manhood in this interval, were educated in all the reminiscences 
of the war of Seventy-six, w'hich, fresh in the narratives of every 
fire-side, inflamed the imagination of the young with its thousand 
marvels of soldier-like adventure. These were told with the 
amplification and the unction characteristic of the veteran, and 
were heard by his youthful listener, with many a secret sigh, that 
such days of heroic hazards were not to return for him. The 
])resent generation is but faintly impressed with that worship of the 
Revolution which, before the war of 1812, gave a poetical charac- 
ter to its memories, and made it so joyful a subject for the 
imagination of those who lived to hear these fresh echoes of its 
glory. 

Now, in 1807, whilst these emotions still swayed the breast of 
the sons of those who had won the independence of the nation, 
the same enemy was about to confront them. The day that many 
had dreamed of was about to arrive ; and many a secret aspiration 
was breathed for a field to realize its hopes. To this sentiment we 
may attribute, in part, that quick rising of the people in 1807, 

VOL. 1 — 18* 



210 FOURTH OF JULY. 



[1807. 



Avhich, but for the timely settlement of the difficulty, would, in 
a iew months, have converted the whole country into a camp. 

Foremost amongst the enthusiasts of this day was William 
Wirt. We shall find liim, very soon, absorbed in a scheme to 
raise a legion. He was to be at the head of four regiments of 
State troops, with a chosen corps of officers and men M'hom, he 
did not doubt, were destined to become conspicuous in annals 
dedicated to posterity. For the present, we shall find him 
slaking his ardor in a song. 

The Fourth of July was to be celebrated in the neighborhood 
of Richmond. Such an occasion, of course, no one could expect 
to pass without a full freight of those engrossing sentiments which 
were peculiarly inspired by the great topic, now first in the uni- 
versal mind. Judge Tucker was a poet as well as a kindred 
spirit. He had witnessed the Revolution at an age capable of 
observation, and was still deeply imbued with all its passion. I 
find this letter : 

TO JUDGE TUCKER. 

Richmond, July 2, 1807. 
Mv Dear Sir: 

How is your muse ? If in mounting mood, how w^ould you 
gratify me, and enable me to gratify others, on Saturday, by a 
song on the day, embracing the late gallant exploit of the Leopard ! 
Come, I know you can easily dash oif such a piece. It would be 
no more than one of the ordinary overflowings of your spirit versi- 
fied ; and rhyme, McPherson says, is merely a mechanical busi- 
ness, to which, when a man has served an apprenticeship, there 
is no more labor of invention about it than Mr. Didgbury exer- 
cises in making a pair of pumps. 

Our excursion, to-morrow morning, to the point of the beautiful 
hill which overhangs the Market valley, would fill you with the 
conception. All the rest is mere manipulation. 

I could learn the song on Saturday morning. If you come into 
this idea, as I suppose the metre is a mere matter of moonshine to 
you, I would propose that in which the Death of Montgomery, and 
the Battle of Trenton are written. Lest vou should not recollect 



CHAP. XV.] 



FOURTH OF JULY. 211 



these, I will give you the only verse of the latter that I remember. 
Here it is : 

" Our object was the Hessian band. 
That dar'd to invade fair freedom's land 

And quarter in that place. 
Great Washington he led us on. 
With ensigns streaming with renown. 

Which ne'er had known disgrace." 

By-the-bye, it is the metre of " The Mason's Daughter," which 
I am sure you know. Let me hear whether you will do this 
thing — yea or nay? 

Will you let me have a copy of your song in honor of Washing- 
ton? I heard it but once. I think it goes to the tune of "The 
Death of Wolfe." It describes Liberty as taking her flight from 
the shores of Albion, and lighting here. You will know, by 
this, which I mean. 

Very sincerely. 

Your friend and obed't servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The answer is given by the Judge in the following memoran- 
dum, endorsed in his own handwriting, upon the outer page of this 
letter. 

"July 2, 1807. I called on Mr. Wirt this morning, and found this 
letter upon his table. He said ' there is a letter for you.' I had 
in my pocket the lines written for the fourth of this month, which 
I intended for him, without any previous communication between 
us, and gave them to him." 

The lines furnished on this occasion breathe that spirit of bitter 
remembrance of the Revolutionary war, to which I have alluded, 
heightened into still warmer exacerbation, by the audacity of the 
recent aggression upon the Chesapeake. Happily, these feuds are 
now forgotton in the tranquillity engendered by that sentiment of 
mutual respect and appreciation of national and individual worth, 
which, we trust, will long distinguish the intercourse between the 
two countries. At the date of the events above referred to, the joy 
of the nation in the triumph of the war of Independence, had lost 



212 PREPARATION FOR WAR. [1807. 



nothing of its sternness; whilst, on the other side, the sting of 
wounded pride had not yet been assuaged by time.* 

A short note to Carr explains the progress of the war fever. 
Mr. Cabell was, at this time, Governor of the state. The note 
refers to proceedings in his Council. 



"Richmond, July 2, 1807. 

"Dear Carr: 

* * "We are on tiptoe for war. I write this 

in the antechamber, where we are waiting the final resolve of the 
Council, on detaching a portion of us to support our brethren at 
Norfolk. When more composed, I will write to you at large." 

♦Not to open an old wound, but to preserve a memorial of the times and of the 
spirit of defiance, which was universally returned from this country to its proudest 
and most powerful enemy, I present my reader a copy of Judge Tucker's verses, 
which were sung at the celebration, alluded to in the text, by a voice noted for its 
melody. 

"Tyrant ! again we hear thy hostile voice. 

Again, upon our coasts, thy cannon's roar. 
Again, for peace, thou leavest us no choice, 
Again, we hurl defiance from our shore. 

Hast thou forgot the day when Warren bled, 
Whilst hecatombs around were sacrificed ? 

Hast thou forgot thy legions captive led. 
Thy navies blasted by a foe despised ? 

Or thinkest thou, we've forgot our brothers slain, 

Our aged fathers weltering in their gore ? 
Our widowed mothers on their knees, in vain, 

Their violated daughters' fate deplore ? 

Our friends, in prison ships and dungeons chained. 
To summer's suns and winter's frost exposed ; 

Insulted, starved, amidst disease detained, 
Till death the fatal scene of horrors closed ! 

Our towns in ashes laid, our fields on fire. 
Our wives and children flying from the foe ! 

Ourselves in battle ready to expire. 

Yet struggling still to strike another blow ! 

Know then, this day recalls the whole : 

And hear our solemn and determined voice; 

In vain, proud tyrant, shall thy thunders roll. 

Since, once more, death or victory 's our choice." 



CHAP. XV.] LETTER TO CARR. 213 

The prospect of war had now filled Wirt's imagination with 
dreams of military glory. His correspondence is fraught with 
schemes of martial life. His views of public affairs, as commu- 
nicated in some of these letters, will amuse the reader of the 
present day, by their exhibition of the feelings of the time, and 
the extravagant expectations which the ferment of the public 
mind then suggested. . 

From 1807, until the event actually occurred in 1812, the mar- 
tial temper of the country was kept in an excitement which was 
much more likely to terminate in war than conciliation. Wirt 
had, previous to this period, held the commission of a major in a 
militia regiment. At the last session of the Legislature, he had 
been put in nomination for the post of a Brigadier General, and 
had only lost the election by a few votes. 

The affair of the Chesapeake had led him to expect military 
service in the field ; and he now, consequently, turned his thoughts 
towards an effective employment in a war which he considered 
inevitable. To this end, he set himself about the organization of 
a plan to raise the Legion to which I have already adverted. In 
the several letters which I have on this subject, I find him totally 
engrossed with the project, and pursuing it with an earnestness 
which shows how much his mind was captivated with the fancy 
of military glory. I select a few of these letters with a view to 
a rapid sketch of this passage in his personal history. They 
contain details of the plan of the Legion, and an announcement of 
what was expected to be achieved, which now, after the expe- 
rience of the country towards the realization of these fancies of 
1807, will be read with curious interest, and, perhaps, be valued 
for the comment they suggest for our instruction, when we find 
occasion to contrast the promises of the day, with the perform- 
ances of the future. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, July 19, 1807. 
Mv Dear Friend : 

I promised that you should hear from me again, and more at 
length than when I wrote by Stanard. I sit down now to 
comply with that engagement. 



214 MOVEMENTS OF THE BRITISH. [1807. 

On receiving the President's proclamation officially, the British 
ships in Hampton Roads weighed anchor, the Commodore saying 
that he had previously determined to change his anchorage, and 
that he was the master of his own movements. They sailed 
out of the capes. Richard H. Lee was sent by Mathews, to 
carry to Douglass despatches from Erskine and from the British 
Consul at Norfolk. When he approached them he was' hailed, 
and asked if he did not know that all intercourse between the 
main and the squadron was prohibited ? He said he did ; but that 
he bore important communications, which rendered it proper that 
he should come on board. He was then admitted on deck, de- 
livered his despatches, and the Commodore asked him into the 
cabin, where the other British officers were immediately assem- 
bled. After they had read the despatches, they began to interro- 
gate him thus; "Well, sir, is the mob down in Norfolk, or is it 
still up.?" "Has the mob assassinated the British Consul yet?" 
" What are we to make of this Mathews — at one moment he is a 
general, at the next the chairman of a mob ?" Lee tried to dis- 
courage this conversation, but it only provoked them to greater 
rudeness. 

Two of the British ships have since put out to sea. The other 
two still remain off the capes. 

The Executive has recalled the companies of infantry which 
marched from this place and Petersburg. The two troops of 
horse from these places will remain with Mathews, for the pur- 
pose of scouring the coast, and repelling any attempt to land. 

I was here when the companies from this place marched, and 
was in Williamsburg when the company of horse marched thence 
to Norfolk. It had not, indeed, all of the glorious " pride, pomp 
and circumstance," — but it smacked " of war." The companies 
were uniformed, their arms newly burnished. They had an 
elegant stand of colors, and a most delightfully animating band of 
music. Accompanied by an escort of the militia of Richmond 
and the company of artillery, marching in files, they traversed the 
main street through almost its whole length. All this would have 
been merely a fourth of July parade ; but what gave it the tragic 
face of war was, that every window, from the ground to the third 
and fourth story, was filled with weeping females. 



CHAP XV.] 



PLAN OF A LEGION. 215 



Do you think that these people will do us the justice they 
ought? The exasperated spirit of this nation will not be satisfied 
with a ministerial disavowal ; nor with an English farce of a trial 
of Berkeley and Humphreys, a complimentary return of their 
swords, and higher promotion. 

Even if they were to convict and execute Berkeley or Hum- 
phreys, or both, — I confess, for my own part, that I siiould be 
very dubious whether they were not giving us the second part of 
the tragedy of poor Byng, so firmly am I persuaded that this 
atrocious outrage flowed from the Cabinet. 

According to my notion of things, if the ministry disavow the 
outrage, the offenders should be given up to be tried in this coun- 
try. I see this right disclaimed by a northern press, (perhaps a 
republican one) and, I think, very improperly. The paper dis- 
claims it because the violence was not committed within our juris- 
diction ; but if it be true that the violence done to the Chesapeake, 
was out of our territorial line, yet the Chesapeake, herself, 
wherever she was, being a national ship, was part of our terri- 
tory ; and, this, I think, is not the less true because it was de- 
monstrated, perhaps by John Marshall, in the case of Jonathan 
Robbins. If it be true at all, the offenders ought to be tried in 
this country, on the principles of national as well as common law. 
If tried here, Berkeley and Humphreys will have it in their power 
to shew whether they acted by the orders of their masters. If 
they did, they ought to be acquitted, and their masters punished ; 
if they did not, they would themselves be certainly punished. 
Neither of which events would happen, if tried in England. 

I think nothing less ought to or will satisfy the people of this 
country than the surrender of Berkeley and Humphreys for trial. 
And as I believe that British arrogance will never condescend to 
this act of justice, I believe war to be inevitable. 

In this event, I presume that our profession will be of but little 
importance to us. 

If so, what will you do with yourself.? Not sit idly at home, I 
presume. For my part, I am resolved. I shall yield back my 
wife to her father, pro tempore, to which the old gentleman has 
agreed, and I shall march. 

Now, Sir : " Shut the door," — what follows is in the strictest 
confidence of friendship, never to be hinted to a living soul, unless 



216 PLAN OF A LEGION. 



[1807. 



you come into it, and it takes effect. There are some " choice 
spirits," (a phrase which I am sorry that Burr has polluted,) who 
have agreed to raise four volunteer regiments, to be formed into a 
brigade. We begin with four colonels, — who are nominated, an 
of whom you are proposed to be one. — These colonels to nomi- 
nate their majors and captains, to be approved of by all the 
colonels. The object is to make the selection as distinguished 
for talent, spirit and character as possible : to have no officer 
merely because his heart is good ; nor merely because his under- 
standing is good ; but to have, in him, a union, as perfect as pos- 
sible, of understanding, heart, good temper^ and morals. It is 
to be explicitly understood, that no man is to be admitted, even 
into the ranks, unless his morals are good. Thus organized, w'hat 
a brigade ! 

It is proposed to make an offer of these four regiments to the 
President, under the act of Congress which authorizes him to 
accept of the service of volunteers. By that act, the volun- 
teer officers are to be commissioned by their respective states. 
This, there is no doubt, the Executive Council of the state will do, 
so far as the commissions of colonel; they have no power to 
appoint a brigadier general. But there is as little doubt that the 
Legislature will confer that office on the colonel who holds the 
first commission. The colonels proposed, are — A. Stuart, a mem- 
ber of the Council, who, notwithstanding his deficiency in the 
graces, has, you know, as sound a judgment and as ardent a heart 
as ever did honor to humanity — John Clarke, the Superintendent 
of the Manufactory of Arms, one of the first geniuses and best 
men of the state — yourself and myself. They have done me the 
honor to insist that I shall take the first commission. We are not 
to leave our homes until called into actual service by the President. 

You will let me hear from you, if possible, by the return of 
mail, as Stuart is going on next Monday to Annapolis, on business, 
and is willing to take the Federal City on his way, to commune 
with the President. 

If you accord, authorize me by letter, to sign your name to the 
association. 

Any thing else, after this, will be flat, — so no more^ but, with 
love to Mrs. C. and your brothers. 

Adieu, your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAP. XV.] LETTERS TO CARR. 217 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, July 28, 1807. 

Your expected favor, by the last mail, was every thing I could 
wish. Stuart had gone to Hanover Court, on his way to Wash- 
ington ; he was not, therefore, here, to consult on the subject of 
suffering you, to exchange the rank of fourth colonel for that of 
first major in the first regiment. 

I read your letter to Clarke : he was so much enraptured with 
your sentiments, that he swore the exchange should not take place 
by his consent. I, therefore, signed your name to a letter which 
I had written to the President, containing our joint proposal, and 
despatched it to Stuart, at Hanover, by the mail of last evening. 

If the President shall be at Washington when the letter gets 
there, it will be presented: otherwise, I have requested Stuart not 
to leave it ; stating to him, that you appear to entertain serious 
doubts of your ability to raise a regiment; that you propose 
Nelson, and state your willingness to accept a majority in my 
regiment : that, for your sake, I could wish that this point might 
be considered by us on his return : that, in the meantime, I should 
authorize you, if your apprehensions still continued, to sound 
Nelson, distantly and delicately, and ascertain, with certainty, 
whether he would take the rank of fourth colonel in the brigade, 
without any shadow of repining at his station. 

The arrangement which we have made must not be broken, 
and I am apprehensive, that Nelson, although he might consent to 
join, would entertain a secret wish that the arrangement had given 
him a higher position. Now, in order to give to the brigade that 
unity of spirit and motion, which are indispensable to its energy 
as well as harmony, it is necessary that every man should be not 
only contented, but pleased with his peculiar station. One discon- 
tented and perturbed spirit, especially in a high command, would 
not only mar our happiness, but endanger the powerful effect which 
we hope and expect. If, therefore, you shall retain your appre- 
hensions as to raising a regiment, after what I shall presently say, 
you can, if you please, feel N's pulse, to ascertain whether he 
would, with all his soul, come into it, and take the station proposed 
to him in a brigade, to be organized on the principles of ours. 

VOL. 1 — 19 



218 EFFORTS TO FORM THE LEGION. [1S07. 

You will understand that this sounding is predicated upon the 
supposition that the President shall have left Washington before 
Stuart gets there ; for if Stuart finds him there, you are committed. 

In the event of Nelson's being taken in as colonel, you will be 
my first major; and, when I take the command of the brigade, 
you will, of course, take the head of my regiment, which is the 
first regiment. 

But now, as to the practicability of forming a regiment, that 
will depend less on the personal popularity of the colonel, than of 
his subalterns. You will, for example, appoint your majors and 
captains, with the approbation of your brother colonels. In 
making these appointments, you will have the range of the state; 
you will appoint one major in one part of the state, another, in 
another: ditluse the appointment of captains as widely as possible, 
so as to increase the chances of a rapid formation of your regi- 
ment; these captains will appoint their subalterns; and on the 
captain and his inferior officers, will depend the success of enlist- 
ments. That you, as the colonel, are a man of talents, honor, 
education, good breeding, courage and humanity, will be informa- 
tion enough to the soldiers. 

Besides, sir, as soon as we are commissioned, I mean to have 
two or three hundred hand-bills struck, explanatory of the prin- 
ciples on which our brigade will be constructed ; and painting it 
in perspective as brilliantly as my paint box and brushes can do it; 
these will be circulated, first to the colonels, through them to the 
majors, and through them to the captains and subalterns, to be 
read at every public meeting of courts, musters, &c. 

On the efficacy of this address — on the conduct of your majors, 
captains, &c., dispersed over the state, 1 think you may securely 
count for a regiment; more especially, when your own unsullied 
and respectable name is known to key the arch. 

If, after all this, you doubt, and the President should be at Mon- 
ticello, and you prefer Nelson, if he comes into it con amore, he 
will be excellent. 

****** 

The Governor has written to the President in support of our 
letter — ca ira. 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAP. XV.] THE LEGION. 219 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, August 12, 1807. 



My Dear Chevalier: 



The act of Congress, of the 24th February last, authorizes a 
tender of volunteer services to the President by companies ; and 
directs him to organize the companies, so tendered, into battalions, 
regiments and brigades: hence it is thought that commissions to 
majors and colonels cannot issue, until he shall have received the 
tender of your companies, and made the requisite organization. 

Enclosed, you have commissions for the seven captains whom 
you have named, with a circular letter for each. You will require 
two more captains, whom you will name by the return of mail ; 
and you will, as early as possible, name the lieutenants and en- 
signs in each company. 

Upon this subject you had better take the opinion of each cap- 
tain, as they will probably best know the officers qualified for the 
recruiting service in their respective neighborhoods. In the 
meantime, the persons so designated as lieutenants and ensigns, 
can immediately assist the captains in recruiting ; understanding, 
however, that their commissions will depend on the approbation 
of the Executive Council of the State. If approved, their com- 
missions will be immediately forwarded. 

If either of your captains decline, name another, as soon as pos- 
sible, in his place, and your brothers here will take care of his 
commission. 

Charge your captains, particularly, to recruit no drunkard and 
no unprincipled gambler. Let them, as far as possible, recruit 
only young men, (I mean without families, and under six and 
thirty — at all events, not over forty) of good size and healthy. It 
would be fortunate if each company could be completed in the 
same neighborhood, for the convenience of exercising it. 

The men will understand that they will not be called from their 
several neighborhoods and pursuits, until called out by the Presi- 
dent into actual service. 

They ought to understand that the war cannot, in the nature of 
things, be a long one. A single campaign will probably give us 
Canada and Nova Scotia: so that while an engagement /or the war 



220 THE LEGION. [1S07. 

n'ill be more honorable, it will probably not be more opjjressive 
than an engagement for twelve months — (and much I fear that the 
glory of this achievement will be given to the states immediately 
in the British neighborhood : — Canada and Nova Scotia taken, 
little more will remain, unless Great Britain, by conquest, should 
open another theatre in the South : — this parenthesis is to you.) 

The substance of our letter to the President will be found in 
the enclosed circular. 

The companies recruited, will furnish themselves with the cheap 
militia uniform of the state, of w^hich any captain will advise you; 
and for which, if they are called out into service, they will be 
paid by the United States. 

On the subject of recruiting among other volunteers, you shall 
hear further from us. 

The hour of Burr's trial is come. He has exhausted the panel, 
and elected only four jurors, Ed. Carrington, Hugh Mercer, R. 
E. Parker, (the Judge's grandson) and Lambert, of this place. 

Your brothers greet you, 

Wm. Wirt. 

We have now some signs of miscarriage. Glory has its unto- 
ward currents as well as love. The war seems to have been 
transferred to the newspapers. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 1, 1807. 
My Dear Dabney: 

Sick, as I have been for several days, and harrassed by the 
progress of Burr's affair, I have but a minute to answer your fa- 
vor by the last mail. 

****** 

We have certainly been deceived, if not in the virtue, at least 
in the understanding of our countrymen. In spite of the repeated 
efforts which have been made to explain the motives and object 
of our association, and its non-interference wuth militia dignities, 
they still misapprehend it, or affect to misapprehend it. We are 



CHAP. XV.] THE LEGION. 221 



right in principle, and must disregard this " ardor prava jiiben- 
tium.'''' 

Several companies in the lower country arc filled up, or nearly 
so; and I think the wave of prejudice is retiring. A letter of the 
Governor, in reply to one from a militia officer making inquiries 
as to this Legion, will be published to-day, by order of Council, 
and will, I hope, give the coup cle grace to this ignorant or vicious 
opposition. 

My sickness, and professional engagements together, have pre- 
vented me from giving to this subject, for some time past, that 
personal attention which I wished. 

Marshall has stepped in between Burr and death. He has pro- 
nounced an opinion that our evidence is all irrelevant. Burr not 
having been present at the island with the assemblage, and the 
act itself not amounting to levying war. 

The jury thus sent out without evidence, have this day re- 
turned a verdict, in substance, of not guilty. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next letter looks to the conquest of Quebec. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September S, 1807. 
My Dear Friend: 

Mr. Randolph's project is better calculated, than ours, to go on 
swimmingly at first. Wait till the election of his officers, and the 
period of their services is fixed, and you will discover the discor- 
dia semina rerum which his plan contains. In our plan, no source 
of delusive hope and consequent disgust and disappointment exists. 
All who join us will know, with certainty, what they undertake ; 
none but ardent and aspiring spirits will join us, because we go 
for the war: we shall have no six months soldier whose heart and 
face will be turned towards home every step that he takes towards 
Canada, and whose dragging, lengthening chain will be almost too 
heavy to be borne by him, before he gets half way to Quebec. 

VOL. 1—19* 



222 MISCARRIAGE. [1S07. 



I begin to apprehend that there will be no war. The blood of 
our countrymen has been washed from the decks of the Chesa- 
peake, and we have never learned how to bear malice. Besides, 
Bonaparte will drub and frighten the British into the appearance, 
at least, of good humor with us. 

I think, however, we had better urge on our brigade, till our 
Government orders us to ground our arms. The progress we 
shall make will be so much ground gained in the event of a new 
explosion. 

You will see the opinion by which Marshall stopped the trial 
for treason. The trial for misdemeanor will begin to-day. It will 
soon be stopped : then a motion to commit and send on to Ken- 
tucky, which will not be heard. 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

From the philosophical tone of our next extract, we infer that 
the Legion and its hopes had fallen into some danger of extinction 
from the jealousy entertained against it by the militia of the state. 
This seems to have been the first event in the life of the writer, 
which gave him a taste of the disappointments to which all ambi- 
tious aspirations are exposed, and therefore to have filled his mind 
with reflections which were not less natural to the occasion, than 
of a character to be frequently repeated in the course of his suc- 
ceeding years. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 14, 1807. 

Mv Dear Friend: 

******* 

As to the Legion, it has given me a new view of human nature, 
and of my countrymen ; and has, I confess, filled my heart with 
the most melancholy presages for their future destiny. So 
easily misled and so easily inflamed, even against their friends, 
what difliculty will an artful villain ever have in wielding them 
even to their own ruin ? 

This is a new incentive to virtue. It is into our own hearts that 
we are, at last, to look for happiness. It is the only source on 



CHAP. XV.] POLITICAL REFLECTIONS. 223 



\vhich we can count with infallible certainty. These truths, so 
long preached by philosophers and divines, were never before 
brought home so strongly to my conviction, as by the example of 
this Legion. 

Thank God ! we are not without this source of happiness on the 
present occasion. 

But what is to become of the people ; what is to become of the 
republic, since they are thus easily to be duped ? 

These are subjects which suggest most painful anticipations to 
nie ; for it seems that no rectitude, no patriotism of intention, can 
shield a man even from censure and execration. And the people 
who themselves mean to do what is right, are still capable of 
being so deluded, as to think it proper, and even virtuous, to 
censure and execrate a man for an act, not only flowing from the 
purest motives, but really well judged for their benefit and happi- 
ness. 

How hard is it for a republican to admit the truth, that a 
patriotic and judicious action may, nevertheless, draw down upon 
its authors the disapprobation, the censure, and even the curses of 
the people ! That no argument, no appeal to reason and law and 
right, can save him from the consequences ! Yet it is certainly 
true. 

It requires some effort in a man, who receives this conviction 
from experience, to prevent him from drawing himself into his 
shell, and caring only about himself. ^ * * j>y^ 

then, if every virtuous man should take that resolution, the theatre 
would be given up to villians, solely, and we should soon all go to 
perdition together ; and this would not be quite so palatable. So, 
we must do our duty and leave the issues to Heaven. If the 
people curse us, our own hearts will bless us ; " if we have 
troubles at sea, boys, we have pleasures on shore." And admit- 
ting all these alloys, what form of government is there that has 
not more and worse .'' So " we bring up the lee-way with a ^vet 
sail," as poor Frank Walker used to say. ' 

We are balancing on the point of yielding the legionary scheme, 
so far as the field officers are concerned. Consult Nelson, and let 
me hear what you think of it. 

The second prosecution against Burr is at an end ; Marshall has 
again arrested the evidence. 



224 THE LEGION ABANDONED. [1807. 

A motion will be made to commit him and his confederates, for 
trial in Kentucky or wherever else the judge shall, from the 
whole evidence, believe their crimes to have been committed. 

There is no knowing what will become of the motion. I believe 
it will be defeated : — sic transit &c. 

In haste. 

Yours affectionately, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The Legion has now become hopeless. It can only be revived 
by Great Britain • — as we may read in the next letter. 

TODABNEYCARR. 

Richmond, September 22, 1807. 
My Dear Daenev: 

1 have a moment, only, to acknowledge yours of the 18th inst. 

The abandonment of the legionary scheme, ^vhich I suggested 
lor your consideration in my last, was proposed by some of our 
friends in the country, and while we were considering it, I thought 
it proper that you should consider it too. 

It is my own opinion that there would be more dignity, as well 
as propriety, in our withdrawing. But the majority here urge 
with some reason, that we stand committed to the captains who 
have accepted, and should infringe the express terms of the con- 
tract which we ourselves proposed, by deserting them at this time. 

It seems to be the opinion that, under these circumstances, we 
had better suffer the scheme to die a natural death. 

it is not even yet despaired but that the plan may be executed. 
From Gloucester, Essex, Stafford and Fredericksburg, we have 
flattering accounts that the storm is subsiding. 

It depends, I suspect, on Great Britain, whether the Legion will 
be ever filled up. * * * 

In very great haste, my dear D, 

I am yours iit semper, 

Wm. Wirt. 

This is the end of a martial dream. Wirt and Carr were both 
in their thirty-fifth year — an age when men may be trusted to 



CHAP. XV.l WAR POSTPONED— THE EMBARGO. 225 

make good any promise of adventure. They were both very 
much in earnest in the scheme. The reader will smile at the 
double current of war and law, which runs through these letters — 
the affairs of the forum in the morning, of the camp in the evening. 
A two-fold engrossment very taking to the fancy of Wirt. A 
special session of Congress was called by the President, to com- 
mence on the 26th of October. It was supposed that this session 
would take up the question of the Chesapeake in such a spirit as 
would lead to a declaration of war. That expectation had already 
yielded to an opposite conviction, produced by a disavowal of the 
act of the British Commander by his Government. The prospect 
of settling the pending differences by negotiation became almost 
certain. The result was, that the war was indefinitely postponed. 
Amongst other consequences of this event, the hopes of the Legion 
and its projector gradually faded away in the somewhat clouded 
atmosphere of a doubtful peace. 

Instead of war — the country had an Embargo. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

1S08. 

INCREASING REPUTATION MR. JEFFERSON PROPOSES TO HIM TO GO INTO 

CONGRESS HE DECLINES.— DETERMINES TO ADHERE TO HIS PROFESSION — 

HE DEFENDS MR. MADISON AGAINST THE PROTEST — LETTERS OF " ONE OP 
THE PEOPLE."— UNEXPECTEDLY PUT IN NOMINATION FOR THE LEGISLA- 
TURE—LETTER TO MRS. W. ON THIS EVENT.— HIS REPUGNANCE TO IT — IS 

ELECTED CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. MONROE.— LETTERS TO CARR AND 

EDWARDS. 

The reputation which Wirt acquired by his participation in the 
trial of Aaron Burr had a conspicuous effect upon his subsequent 
career. That trial had summoned to Richmond a great concourse 
of spectators, amongst whom were many men of the highest dis- 
tinction in the State of Virginia, and, indeed, in the Union. The 
court house was thronged with crowds capable of forming the 
best judgment upon the merits of the counsel, and of doing full 
justice to their several ability. The cases were argued with 
careful preparation and masterly skill. The whole doctrine of 
treason, both as known to the law of England and as defined in 
the Constitution of the United States, was fully discussed, and the 
leading decisions of both countries were analyzed with an acumen 
which impresses the reader of the report with the highest respect 
for the talent enlisted in the cause. 

The opinions of those who witnessed the trial, and the impres- 
sions made by it upon all who read the proceedings at a distance 
from the scene, equally tended to elevate the professional standing 
of the counsel : of neither more than of Mr. Wirt. Indeed, judg- 
ing from the notoriety which portions of his speech acquired 
through the public press, we may say that no one of the counsel 
jH'ofited as much by it as he did. 

His popularity in Richmond thus greatly enhanced, seems to 
have suggested an attempt to bring him into public life. Mr. Jef- 
ferson expressed an earnest wish to him on this subject, in which 
he Avas seconded by many of his political friends. 



CHAP. XVI.] LETTER FROM MR. JEFFERSON. 227 

The following letter from the President, now approaching the 
last year of his second term, shows the high estimate he made of 
Mr. Wirt's qualifications for political service. 

Washington, January 10, 1808. 

Dear Sir : 

* * # * * * * 

I suspected, from your desire to go into the army, that you dis- 
liked your profession, notwithstanding that your prospects in it 
were inferior to none in the state. Still, I knew that no profes- 
sion is open to stronger antipathies than that of the law. The 
object of this letter, then, is to propose to you to come into Con- 
gress. That is the great commanding theatre of this nation, and 
the threshold to whatever department of office a man is qualified 
to enter. With your reputation, talents and correct views, used 
with the necessary prudence, you will, at once, be placed at the 
head of the republican body in the House of Representatives; and 
after obtaining the standing which a little time will ensure you, 
you may look, at your own will, into the military, the judiciary, 
diplomatic or other civil departments, with a certainty of being 
in either whatever you please; and, in the present state of what 
may be called the eminent talents of our country, you may be 
assured of being engaged, through life, in the most honorable em- 
ployments. If you come in at the next election, you will begin 
your course with a new administration. 

By supporting them, you will lay for yourself a broad founda- 
tion in the public confidence, and, indeed, you will become the 
Colossus of the republican government of your country. I will 
not say that public life is the line for making a fortune ; but it fur- 
nishes a decent and honorable support, and places one's children 
on good grounds for public favor. The family of a beloved father 
will stand with the public on the most favorable grounds of com- 
petition. Had General Washington left children, what would 
have been denied to them ? 

Perhaps, I ought to apologize for the frankness of this communi- 
cation. It proceeds from an ardent zeal to see this government 
(the idol of my soul) continue in good hands, and from a sincere 
desire to see you whatever you wish to be. To this apology I 



228 WIRT'S ANSWER. [1808. 



shall only add my friendly salutations and assurances of sincere 

esteem and respect. 

Th. Jefferson. 

This very flattering invitation from one so eminently distin- 
guished as the writer of it, to a career which we may suppose, at 
this time, to have been fully open to Mr. Wirt, and which, in 
itself, is usually regarded as sufficiently attractive to men of 
talents, was promptly answered by him to whom it was addressed, 
in a tone of so much prudence and with such deliberate estimate 
of the duties he owed to himself and his family, as to present an 
example of self-denial but seldom witnessed in one who might 
have found in the invitation so many persuasives to accept it. 

Wirt was now in the very meridian of vigorous manhood, — a 
time of life when the ardor of youthful ambition is not only una- 
bated, but even more confident by the conscious strength of expe- 
rience and knowledge of the world. 



TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, January 14, 1808. 
Dear Sir : 

I fear you have forgotten my disposition, since you seem to 
think your favor of the 10th might require an apology. It is to 
me obliging and grateful beyond expression. I cannot better de- 
serve your good opinion than by answering your proposition in the 
same spirit of frankness in which it was made. 

My desire to go into the army proceeded from no dislike of my 
profession. It arose from the impulse which electrified the conti- 
nent. In acting under it, I overlooked domestic inconveniences 
which, in this calmer proposal of going into Congress, present 
themselves with irresistible force. I have a wife and children 
entirely unprovided for. They subsist on the running profits of 
my practice. The instant this ceases they must either starve, or 
be thrown on the charity of their relations. This also would be 
the effect of my going into the army. But a state of war demands 
many sacrifices which can never be necessary in a time of peace. 
The war, too, I supposed could not last more than two or three 
campaigns— at least upon land; after which I might return to my 



CHAP. XVI.] REFUSES PUBLIC LIFE. 229 



practice. Whereas the political career fixes my destiny for life. 
In entering it, although I should have the good fortune to reap all 
the high honors and advantages which your obliging good opinion 
has suggested, yet old age will come upon me, and find my wife 
and children as destitute of provision as they are now. I think it 
my duty to endeavor to guard against this, and, as soon as I can, 
to place them in a situation in which my death would not beggar 
them. 

It is then that I might enter, with advantage, on public life. I 
should be better informed and better known ; and independence of 
fortune might save me from those cruel and diabolical insinuations 
which I have sometimes seen in the debates of Congress and in 
the public prints. 

The situation of our amiable and beloved countryman Avho has 
just returned from a foreign mission, to meet the most perplexing 
embarrassments, of a private nature, at home, is an awful lesson 
on the subject of devoting one's self to his country before he shall 
have secured an independent retreat for old age: nothing, indeed, 
can be more endearing than that devotion. 

I may add that were my fortune other than it is, there is not in 
life a course on which I would enter with more spirit and ardor 
than that to which you invite me. The government is most dear 
to my affections. Its practicability, its energy, its dignity — the 
protection, prosperity and happiness which it ensures, are now 
demonstrated. And after your retirement, the pure and en- 
lightened man to whom we look, as your successor, will, in my 
opinion, have no equal on the theatre of public life. Yet not- 
withstanding this, I am sure that you will approve my motive in 
adhering to the practice of the law. 

I am dear sir, most respectfully. 

Your obedient serv't, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Refusing in this firm and respectful manner the alluring offer 
which was made to him, Wirt, nevertheless, was far from being 
an unconcerned or inactive spectator of the public events. The 
time had now arrived when Mr. Jefferson was about to retire from 
the Presidency, and the nation was deeply interested in the pur- 
voL. 1—20 



230 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808. 

pose of nominating his successor. The democratic parly, of 
which Mr. Jetlerson was the head, had generally directed their 
attention to the secretary of state, Mr. Madison, as the man most 
worthy of tlie eminent trust which was about to be vacated. 
There were, however, some dissentients in that party, opposed to 
this nomination. At the head of these was John Randolph, of 
Roanoke. Certain members of Congress, of whom Mr. Randolph 
was one, had published a paper which purported to be " A Pro- 
test" against the proceedings of a caucus, then recently held by 
the majority of the republican members of the two houses at 
Washington, in which Mr. Madison had been nominated as the 
candidate. This Protest came from a fragment of the republican 
j)arty itself, and threatened a distinctive division, which might 
finally lead to the overthrow of the friends of the existing admin- 
istration. Mr. Madison was the principal object of their attack, 
and he was arraigned before the public in terms of great severity. 
The principal charges brought against liim, w^ere found tirst, in 
his report upon the Yazoo claims, "recommending," as the Protest 
affirmed, — "a shameful bargain with the unprincipled speculators 
of the Yazoo companies;" — second, in an alleged "want of en- 
ergy" of character; — and lastly, in his participation in the author- 
ship of " The Federalist," with Jay and Hamilton, 

Such a paper, put forth at this time, was looked upon by the 
great body of the republicans with deep concern. This party had 
now been in power eight years. The retirement of Mr. Jcft'erson 
presented the first occasion for a struggle to re-assert the supre- 
macy of the party which he had overthrown. The public afiairs 
were in a most critical position, hovering between peace and war. 
Powerful enemies were in arms abroad. Great talent was skill- 
fully combined at home against the administration. But the people 
were strong in the advocacy of the party in power, and could only 
be defeated, in their hope of maintaining it, by such untoward 
events as this division of their leaders seemed likely to encourage 
and direct. 

In this state of things, Wirt took up his pen in defence of the 
decision of the caucus, and addressed three letters " to the Pro- 
testors," through the medium of the Enquirer, at Richmond. 
These letters were signed " One of the People." As they convey 
a favorable impression of the author's talents for political contro- 



CHAP. XVI.] EXTRACTS. 231 

versy ; and as they refer to some interesting facts of public his- 
tory, as well as to some questions of political conduct; and present 
a most spirited and appropriate defence of one of the ablest and 
best of American statesmen, the reader, it is presumed, will find 
sufficient interest in the topics, to be gratified with the perusal of 
the following extracts. 

These letters are addressed to Joseph Clay, Abraham Trigg, 
John Russell, Josiah Masters, George Clinton, Jr., Gurdon S. 
Mumford, John Thompson, Peter Swart, Edwin Gray, W. Hoge, 
Samuel Smith, Daniel Montgomery, John Harris, Samuel Maclay, 
David R. Williams, James M. Garnett and John Randolph. 

" One of the people of the United States, to whom you have 
lately addressed yourselves through the medium of the press, re- 
turns you his acknowledgements through the same channel, and as 
one of your constituents, he expects to be heard by you in his 
turn. An appeal to the nation, by their representatives in Con- 
gress, and that under so solemn a form as a protest, strikes the 
attention and commands respect. The parliamentary protest in 
England, has generally been the act of a patriotic minority, resist- 
ing in behalf of the people, the corrupt policy and bold encroach- 
ments of the minister. We have been accustomed to see and to 
feel in those protests the genuine flame of the patriot, the unity 
and simplicity of truth, the energy of argument, crowned with the 
light, the order and dignity of eloquence. From a natural asso- 
ciation of ideas, on which you, no doubt, calculated, we received 
your protest with similar feelings. It is true, indeed, that in this 
country ive have perceived nothing either of ministerial oppression 
or corruption, during the course of our present administration. 
The country has appeared to us to flourish in halcyon peace. In- 
stead of oppression, we have felt our burdens lightened ; instead 
of corruption, we have seen only that political purity and chastity 
which become a republic. But in spite of seeing and feeling, 
when we find a congressional protest published to the world, and 
supported by dissentients so respectable, in number, we at first 
apprehend that our senses have been deceived ; that, unknown to 
us, there has been oppression or corruption, or both, which this 
band of honest and independent patriots is now about to expose 
and proclaim to the nation. We take up your protest with hearts 
beating full of expectation and anticipated gratitude. But what is 



232 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. 



[180S. 



our disappointment, what our regret, what our disgust, when, 
instead of" a protest breathing the elevated spirit of conscious truth 
and virtue, telling us of" wrongs which we have sufiered, and proving 
them too, we find ourselves insulted by an electioneering squib — 
weak and inconsistent in its charges — shuffling and prevaricating 
in its argument — poor, entangled and crippled in its composition. 
Is it by these means that you seek to recommend yourselves to our 
respect ? Is it thus that you respect the understandings and integ- 
rity of your countrymen ? 

"The jealous resentment of a republic, is the sacred guardian of 
her honor and safety. The wise and the virtuous approach and 
excite it with caution ; for they know that it is a dangerous pas- 
sion, and they would confine it to its appropriate function, the 
punishment of guilt, and the preservation of the republic. It is 
only the weak and the wicked, who seek to rouse this lion passion 
on every occasion ; the weak, because they know not what they 
do; and the wicked, because tliey know it too well; because they 
are, perhaps, in a situation which anarchy cannot make worse, 
and may make better; or because there is some man of pre- 
eminent merit who stands in the way of their designs, and who is 
too firmly fixed to be removed by any other means than a popular 
storm; or because they feel themselves so perfectly eclipsed in 
the plain road of virtuous and honest policy, that they find it 
necessary to fly off into an eccentric track, in order to catch the 
public eye; or because they had rather be regarded as baleful 
meteors, shaking pestilence and plague upon the earth, than as 
salutary planets of inferior magnitude and splendor, dispensing 
ligiit and maintaining the harmony of the system; or because they 
liave been baulked in some favorite appointment, and writhing 
under the united pangs of disappointed ambition and rancorous 
revenge, or panting for the guilty glory of heading a bold and 
turbulent faction, they w^ould involve a republic in confusion and 
ruin, rather than not to be gratified and distinguished. These are 
truths which the people of the United States understand; and 
understanding which, they will scan with a critical and suspicious 
eye every attempt which is made to inflame the national resent- 
ment. Before they suffer themselves to be inflamed, they will 
examine well the causes which are assigned for it. Before they 
sufl'er their confidence to be withdrawn from a tried, a faithful and 



CHAP. XVI.] THE CAUCUS. 233 

a favorite servant, they will analyze with calmness and patience 
the charges which are made against him. They will do more : 
they will look with an eye of jealous scrutiny into the charac- 
ters and motives of his accusers. They will see whether there 
be no one anions: them to whom the removal of that favorite 
would be personally convenient or grateful ; no one w^hose resent- 
ment or whose envy it would soothe ; no clan of subaltern charac- 
ters, to whose private and personal attachment to a restless and 
ambitious chieftain, it would administer delight. They will trace 
the denunciations to its source ; and see whether it be fair and 
patriotic, w^ith a sincere and single eye to the public good ; or 
whether it be the intrigue of a cabal, to put out of the way a man 
who is too honest and virtuous for their purposes. As to you, 
gentlemen, it is to be presumed that you can defy this scrutiny. 
Occupying the station which you do, it would be horrible to think 
otherwise of you. To turn against us the ' vantage ground ' which 
we have given you, to use it for the purpose of embroiling us with 
one another, of ruining our peace, and overwhelming the republic 
with civil discord, in order that you might rise, like the spirits of 
the storm, to the sovereign direction, would be an abuse of confi- 
dence, a pitch of ingratitude and perfidy, of which we trust that 
our infant republic has, as yet, no examples. 

******* 
" You arraign the late caucus at Washington ; but have not you 
yourselves, or at least the most distinguished among you, been 
members of caucuses on the very same occasion.'' Were you not 
members of a caucus for this very purpose in the presidential elec- 
tion of 1800.' You cannot deny it; you dare not deny it. When 
it was found that there was an equal division in the electoral votes 
between Mr. Jefferson and A. Burr, were you not frequently, nay 
almost perpetually in caucus for the purpose of devising means to 
ensure the ultimate election of him whom you believed the choice 
of the people ? Were you not, again, in caucus for the presiden- 
tial election which took place in the year 1805 .' These are facts 
of public notoriety. You do not deny them. Nay, you admit 
that caucuses ' have heretofore been cuslomarij :' your consciences 
admonished you of the inconsistencies into which you were plung- 
ing, and you attempt to excuse yourselves. 'These meetings,' 
you say, ' if not justified, were palliated by the necessity of the 
VOL. 1—20* 



234 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1S08. 

Union :' No sliufiling in the ranks, gentlemen. A caucus is right 
or wrong in principle ; if wrong, nothing can make it right. If the 
caucus of 1808 was 'in direct hostility with the principles of the 
Constitution ;' if it was a 'gross assumption of power not delegated 
by the j^eople ;' the caucuses of which you were members, were 
equally ' in direct hostility with the Constitution ;' were equally 
'gross assumptions of power not delegated by the people ;' for the 
Constitution has undergone no change in this respect. It gave no 
more caucussing power in 1800-4, than it gives in 1808. Out 
of your own mouth, then, you are condemned : 'wherein ye judge 
others, ye condemn yourselves; for ye that judge, do the same 
thinars.' 

******* 

" Again : You accuse the members of Congress who formed the 
late caucus at Washington of attempting to produce ' an undue bias 
on the presidential election — by the sanction of congressional 
names.' Now, pray, what was the object of your protest — of 
your indecent and unfounded invective against Mr. Madison ? 
Was that intended to produce no ' bias on the presidential elec- 
tion,' and to produce it, too, ' by the sanction of congressional 
names ?' Blush at the inconsistences in which you have involved 
yourselves — inconsistencies which prove the pure and noble policy 
by which you are actuated, and which, rely upon it, will not be 
shortly forgotten by your country. 

■•' But what is all this clamor and uproar about caucuses, and 
which, all at once, have become so fraught with danger to the 
country ! The people of the United States see nothing in a cau- 
cus but a conference among the members of Congress to ascertain 
the favorite of a majority of the people. The presidential election 
is a prevailing topic of conversation in every quarter of the Union, 
for a considerable time before it takes place. The pretensions of 
the several candidates are every where publicly and freely dis- 
cussed. The members of Congress, then, will have learnt the 
sentiments of their respective constituents, before they leave home. 
The object of a caucus is understood to be nothing more nor less 
than to bring those sentiments together, and, by comparing them, to 
ascertain who has the preponderance of popular favor. What 
odds does it make how this conference is called ; whether by an 
anonymous card or one signed by the name of Mr. Bradley ? The 



CHAP. XVI] THE CAUCUS. 235 

essential object is the conference; and so that one be fairly obtained, 
the people care very little about the forms and ceremonies which led 
to it. As to the assertion that the notice was private, we require 
evidence. We have seen a very dift'erent statement of this fact — 
a card jmblished in the name of Mr. Bradley, and a counter-card 
in the name of Mr. Somebody-else. And as to you, gentlemen, 
we presume tliat it would have made very little difference whether 
the notice was public or private ; since your new-born religion 
on this subject, you would have been too scrupulous or too stately 
to have attended, although the notice had come to you in the form 
of a suhpccna ad teslificandum, and, that, on the solemn call of 
your country. 

******* 
" You seem to think that a congressional caucus has the power 
of forcing on the people whomsoever they please as President — 
that by bribes in one shape and another, a caucus composed of 
members of Congress, might be induced to place any candidate in 
nomination, and that such nomination would bind the people like a 
magic spell ; that from it they would have no possibility of ap- 
peal or escape. Do you really believe all this, gentlemen ? If 
you do, we are sorry for you. You have lived to very little pur- 
pose, and know but little of the independence of the American 
character. Waiving, at present, your remark on the corrupti- 
bility of Congress, and of which it is hoped you do not speak ex- 
perimentally — let me ask you this question; — do you suppose that, 
if one of you (and let it be the most prominent cliaracler among 
you) could have prevailed on the last caucus to put him in nomi- 
nation, the people would have had no choice but to have made 
him President .'^ It is impossible to read the question, without 
smiling at the supposition of an answer in the affirmative. The 
nomination would have been lauglied to scorn. And why would 
it? Because there are men of another stamp who are willing to 
serve us: men, whom we have tried for upwards of thirty years; 
men, who sat at the helm through the storms of our revolutionary 
war; men, whom we have ever found faithful and vigilant; men, 
as profound in policy, as they are upright in their views ; men, 
who have never had an object but their country's good ; men, 
compared to whom you are but as boys of yesterday. These are 
the men whom our fathers have gone down to their graves, bless- 



236 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1908. 

ing; and whom we certainly shall not desert, because of your 
petulance and importunity." 

The protestors had adirmed that a caucus was " in direct hos- 
tility with the principles of the Constitution" — but had added to 
this declaration — " we do not say that a consultation amongst the 
members of Congress respecting the persons to be recommended 
for the two highest offices in the Union, may not, in some extraor- 
dinary crisis be proper" — and as an instance of such a crisis they 
liad referred to the first election of Mr. Jefferson, — " The fed- 
eralists" — they said in touching upon this election, — "presented a 
strong phalanx, and either to succeed at all, or to prevent them 
from placing the candidate for the Vice-Presidency in the presi- 
dential chair, it was necessary to exert the combined efforts of the 
whole republican party." To this point, "One of the People" 
asks : 

" But why are you not in caucus, gentlemen .'' for the very crisis 
has arrived, which, according to your principles, would render it 
proper. There is a party which is just as obnoxious to you as 
ever the federal party was, and which we believe you wish, most 
fervently wish, to annihilate. It it the republican party, at the 
head of which is the present administration. It will be in vain 
for you to deny this. It is not in your Protest only that we look 
for the evidence of it : it is in your conduct on the floor of Con- 
gress. From an occasional difference with the measures of the 
administration, we should not have drawn this conclusion, because 
such a result might have been expected from the different struc- 
tures and habits of ditferent minds. But when we find you orga- 
nized into a corps against the administration, and pursuing your 
opposition with as much system^ injlexibilily, and, I will add, 
rancor^ as you manifested towards the federal administrations, we 
can have no doubt that you wish their annihilation as devoutly as 
ever vou wished that of the federalists. Yes, it is not Mr. Madison 
only, it is the administration which offends you. It is their united 
effulgence which produces all this agitation and screaming among 
the birds of night. They long for the day-fall, which better suits 
the dimness of their sight ; for the season of darkness, when 
the peculiar conformation of their organs may give them an ad- 
vantage, and their fierce and predatory spirit may have full scope 
for indulgence and satiety." » ♦ ♦ 



CHAP. XVI.] THE CAUCUS. 237 

After some cogent arguments in favor of the caucus principle, 
the author proceeds : 

" That conference is a medium of communication between the 
states. It shows to one state tlie opinions of another, and to the 
United States the result of the whole. Those who, on the com- 
parison, find themselves in the minority, if they be the genuine 
friends of reptiblicajiism, of harmony and of the Union^ will sac- 
rifice their private predilection to those great public objects ; and 
thus, by reciprocal concessions, feuds between the states will be 
prevented, congressional intrigue will be avoided, and these elec- 
tions will continue to fall, where the Constitution intended them to 
fall, on the people, by their electors. Such will always be the 
result while the people continue fraternal, united, virtuous and 
patriotic. — Or say that a country is cursed with a congressional 
minority, who, instead of thus sacrificing to the public good, 
would sacrifice every earthly and every heavenly consideration to 
the views of their own inordinate ambition ; then, there is the 
more occasion for concert and good understanding among the vir- 
tuous and pacific majority. So that whether in times of internal 
peace or trouble, the conference is constitutional, harmless and 
advantageous. 

" When was it ever more so, than on the present occasion .'' 
When (to say the least of them) a parcel of hot-brained young 
men, aspiring to resemble Shakspeare's character of the earl of 
Warwick, to be the ' builders up and pullers down of Presi- 
dents,' confederate themselves together to traduce and ruin one of 
the most virtuous and able public servants that ever blessed a free 
nation ? And did you suppose that it would be in the power of 
such men as you are, to shake the gratitude and attachment of the 
people to such a man as Mr. Madison .'' What could you have 
thought of us ? what could you have thought of yourselves ? Of 
Mr. Madison, we had supposed it might have been truly said, as 
Dr. Johnson is reported to have said of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that 
he is one of those men with whom, if a person were to quarrel, 
he would be the most at a loss how to abuse. But in this senti- 
ment, Dr. Johnson went upon the supposition, that the abuse 
should proceed upon facts, or at least, have some small degree of 
resemblance to them. The powers of invention and of distortion, 



23S ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1803. 



which you have displayed, were altogether beyond his cal- 
culation." 

The objection of "want of energy" is then taken up. The 
Protest had inveighed against Mr. Madison in this language : 

" We ask for energy, and we are told of his moderation. We 
ask for talents, and the reply is, his unassuming merit. We ask 
what were his services in the cause of public liberty, and we are 
directed to the pages of the Federalist, written in conjunction with 
Alexander Hamilton and John Jay, in which the most extravagant 
of their doctrines are maintained and propagated. We ask for 
consistency as a republican standing forth to stem the torrent of 
oppression which threatened to overwhelm the liberties of the 
country : we ask for that high and honorable sense of duty which 
would, at all times, turn with loathing and abhorrence from any 
compromise with fraud and speculation. We ask in vain." 

The reply to this is spirited, caustic and personal, presenting a 
strong example of the author's power of sarcasm. 

" This is just such pretty little sing-song composition, as school 
boys, with senses half awake, dream over for their tirst thesis. 
And who are you that hold this language concerning Mr. Madison ? 
As to the most prominent among you, we ask for your energy, and 
we are told of your arrogance ; we ask for your talents, and the 
reply is your sarcasms and your petulance ; we ask what are your 
services in the cause of public liberty, and we are directed to 
your co-operation with the British cabinet and the British author 
of War in Disguise, to justify the piratical plunder of our com- 
merce ; we ask for your consistency as republicans, and we are 
told of what you were and what you are — of your former attach- 
ment to the pure principles of the administration, and your present 
delirious and frantic invectives against them. We ask for that high 
and honorable sense of duty, which trampling, with disdain, on all 
selfish considerations of private pique and personal aggrandize- 
ment, looks only to the public good. We ask for the mind which 
pursues that great object with calmness and discretion ; which 
instead of fuming and fretting itself upon a partial view of a 
measure, takes the time to look comprehensively, patiently and 
calmly to all its consequences, in all its bearings; to allow to 
every consideration its due weight, and then, instead of rushing 
to its decision, in a state of feverish passion, takes its ground with 



CHAP. XVI.] THE YAZOO SPECULATION. 239 



that dignity which results from a conscious mastery of the sub- 
ject — from mingled temperance and firmness. — We ask for those 
things ; we ask in vain. As to the rest of you, we ask who are 
you ? and we are told — you are members of Congress. We ask 
how you have distinguished yourselves.' and we are pointed — to 
your PROTEST !— And you are the men who expect, that by 
giving your names to the world you can destroy Mr. Madison ! It 
was, indeed, high time for you to have received this salutary 
admonition. No, gentlemen, believe it, you are not the kind of 
characters who are fitted to sway the destinies of this nation. 
We would as soon commit them to ' Macedonia's madman or the 
Swede.' Nor are the people of the United States an Athenian 
mob, on whom you can play off your intrigues with success. You 
will not speedily gain with us the name of patriots by means of 
your rashness and vociferation ; nor will you prevail upon us, by 
fictitious charges, to banish from our bosom another Aristides. 
You forget that we have the example of Athens before us. If, 
after such an example, we could repeat her follies and her crimes — 
banish our patriots, and applaud and flatter the fiery demagogue 
until we raised him into a despot — we should deserve the remorse, 
the vain and unavailing remorse, the ruin and the infamy which 
finally overtook her." 

The following brief history of the celebrated Yazoo case is not 
without interest : 

"■ But, what do you mean by raising this uproar against Mr. 
Madison about the abominable Yazoo business .? We know that 
he is as perfectly clear of that transaction as you are ; and you 
know it too. We understand you, gentlemen. We see you 
through all vour mazes. You know that this Yazoo business was 
universally odious ; you know how highly and universally our 
indignation was excited. You believe that indignation so blind that 
you can lead it as you list, and so furious that you can cause it to 
sweep into indiscriminate ruin all against whom it is your 
pleasure to direct it. You are mistaken, gentlemen. We are not 
so blind as you suppose us. Nor will you find it so easy a matter 
as you expect, to make us, by misrepresentations, the tools of 
your designs and the instruments of our own disgrace. Unfortu- 
nately for 30U, we know the course of that whole affair too well 
to be imposed upon by you. We will shew you that we do. 



240 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808. 

" When that country which had been the scene and the subject 
of the Yazoo speculation, was ceded by the State of Georgia to 
tlie United States, it passed, with all the incumbrances and claims 
which previously existed upon it. These were derived from 
various sources: 1st. From the British government while the 
country belonged to the British : 2d. From the Spanish crown 
after its conquest of West Florida : 3d. From occupancy and 
settlement only ; and 4th. From the State of Georgia. Petitions, 
memorials and remonstrances swarmed before Congress, and, 
among others, those of the Yazoo speculators. It became im- 
portant to the United States to ascertain how many of those 
claims were well founded and deserved to be confirmed ; how 
many were fictitious and deserved to be rejected. By an act of 
Congress, passed in 1800, the commissioners of the United States 
who had been previously appointed to settle limits with the State 
of Georgia, were authorized, 1st. 'to enquire into the claims 
which are or shall be made by settlers, or any other persons 
whatsoever to any part of the lands aforesaid.' 2d. ' To receive 
from such settlers and claimants any j)^opositions of compromise.'' 
3d. ' To lay a full statement of the claims and propositions, 
together with their opinion thereon, before Congress.' Mr. Madi- 
son, the secretary of state, Mr. Gallatin, the secretary of the 
treasury, and Mr. Lincoln, the then attorney general of the United 
States, were the commissioners appointed to perform those labori- 
ous duties. They discharged them with ability ; and all three 
concurred in the report upon this subject. In explaining the 
Yazoo claims, so far are they from suppressing one single 
feature of that hideous transaction, that they open up all the 
sources of corruption in which the Georgia law originated, point 
out the names of the corrupted members, and arrange and exhibit 
the proofs of that corruption. In short, they exhibit the whole 
of that evidence which was afterwards the theme of so much 
eloquent declamation in Congress. Never was there a case of 
infamous corruption more luminously, more ably, and more 
cogently developed and displayed, than that of the Yazoo, in 
tiieir report. They were directed, however, by the law under 
which they were acting, to receive any proposals of compromise 
which might be made by the Yazoo claimants, and to report such 
proposals to Congress, together with their opinion thereon. They 



CHAP. XVI.] THE YAZOO SPECULATION. 241 



according^ly receive and report the Yazoo proposals, and give 
their opinion that they were inadmissible. At the same time they 
think that there were features in this transaction which deserved 
their consideration and that of Congress. For instance, a great 
number of virtuous and innocent men at a distance from the scene 
of action, and who knew nothing of the corruption in which the 
law of Georgia originated, had been induced to become pur- 
chasers of Yazoo lands. The law itself on the face of it was not 
only fair, but popular. For it was an act supplementary to an act 
entitled, ' an act appropriating a part of the unlocatcd territory of 
this state to the payment of the late state troops.'' The Assembly of 
the State of Georgia, a body having full power on the subject, 
pledge the faith of the slate for the validity of the grant. On the 
faith of this pledge, distant men, as virtuous as any in the United 
States, and knowing nothing of this case except the fair face of 
the law, were induced to take titles under it. The names of some 
of these men, well known in Virginia, appear in the report. Was 
it competent to the State of Georgia, one only of the contracting 
parties, to revoke the law, and that to the prejudice of these 
innocent purchasers ? These were difficulties which the commis- 
sioners had to consider and to report their opinion upon. The 
United States had now taken the place of Georgia ; it had 
acquired by cession a vast territory ; and besides doing strict 
justice to itself, it was bound to do what was equitable to others. 
There was another view of the subject highly interesting to the 
government. It was bound in its decision to consult its oicn dig- 
nity in the mode of adjusting these disputes, and its own interest in 
removing all the sources of litigation and quieting the titles of its 
own future grantees in this territory. Considering these circum- 
stances, the real hardship of the case to the innocent purchasers 
and the rich acquisition which the United States had gained in the 
territory, the three commissioners concurred in thinking it the 
most liberal and sound policy to put an end to all disputes, by 
giving those claimants a reasonable compensation for their disap- 
pointment and losses. This is the whole case." 

We close these extracts with the eloquent defence of Mr. 
Madison, whicii seems to have been prompted no less by the just 
appreciation of his public service than by a warm personal regard 
for the distinguished subject of these remarks. 

, VOL. 1—21 



242 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1803. 

" You object to Mr. Madison, the want of energy. The objection 
shews tlie company which you have been keeping. It proves that 
confederacy with your former political adversaries, which has been 
so often, and, we now find, so justly charged upon you. — It is the 
mere echo of the old federal reproach against Mr. Jeflerson, 
caught by you, to be reverberated against his expected successor. 
The leant of energy? How has Mr. Madison shewn it? Was it 
in standing abreast with the van of our revolutionary patriots, and 
braving the horrors of a seven years' war, for liberty — while you 
were shuddering at the sound of the storm and clinging closer with 
terror, to your mothers' breasts .'' Was it, on the Declaration of 
our Independence, in being among the first and most effective 
agents, in casting aside the feeble threads which so poorly con- 
nected the states together, and in lieu of them, subsliluting that 
energetic bond of union, the Federal Constitution.'' Was it in the 
manner in which he advocated the adoption of this substitute; in 
the courage and firmness with which he met on this topic, fought, 
hand to hand, and finally vanquished that boasted prodigy of 
nature, Patrick Henry ? Where was this timid and apprehensive 
spirit which you are pleased to ascribe to Mr. Madison, when he 
sat under the sound of Henry's voice for days and weeks to- 
gether; — when he saw that Henry, whose soul had so undauntedly 
led the revolution, shrinking back from his bold experiment, from 
the energy of this new and untried Constitution ; — when he heard 
the magic of his eloquence exerted to its highest pitch, in painting 
with a prophet's fire, the oppressions which would tlow from it; 
in harrowing up the soul with anticipated horrors, and enlisting 
even the thunders of Heaven in his cause.'' How did it happen 
hat the leeble and efieminate spirit of James Madison, instead of 
Hying in confusion and dismay, before this awful and tremendous 
combination, sat serene and unmoved upon its throne; that with a 
penetration so vigorous and so clear, he dissipated these phantoms 
of liancy ; rallied back the courage of the House to the charge, and, 
in the State of Virginia, in which Patrick Henry was almost 
adored as infallible, succeeded in throwing that Henry into a 
minority? Is this the proof of his want of energy? Or will you 
find it in the manner in which he watched the first movements of 
the Federal Constitution ; in the boldness with which he resisted, 
even in a Washington, wliat he deemed infractions of its spirit; in 



CHAP. XVI] MR. MADISON. 213 

the independence, ability and vigor with which, in spite of declining 
Iiealth, he maintained this condict during eight years .-' He was then 
in a minority. Turn to the debates of Congress and read his argu- 
ments : You will see how the business of a virtuous and able mi- 
nority is conducted. Do you discover in them any evidence of want 
of energy .-* Yes — if energy consist, as you seem to think it does, in 
Baying rude things, — in bravado and bluster, — in pouring a muddy 
torrent of coarse invective, as destitute of argument, as unwarranted 
by provocation, you will find great evidence of want of energy in 
his speeches. But if true energy be evinced, as we think it is, by 
the calm and dignilied, yet steady, zealous and persevering pursuit 
of an object, his whole conduct during that period is honorably 
marked with energy. And that energy rested on the most solid 
and durable basis — conscious rectitude; supported by the most pro- 
found and extensive information, by an habitual power of investi- 
gation which unravelled with intuitive certainty, the most intricate 
subjects, and an eloquence, chaste, luminous and cogent, which 
won respect, while it forced conviction. We have compared 
some of your highest and most vaunted displays, with the speeches 
of Mr. Madison, during his services in Congress. What a con- 
trast ! It is the noisy and short-lived babbling of a brook after a 
rain, compared with the majestic course of the Potomac. Yet, 
you have the vanity and hardihood to ask for the proof of his 
talents ! You, who have as yet shown no talents that can be of 
service to your country : no talents beyond those of the merciless 
Indian, who dexterously strikes a tomahawk into the defenceless 
heart ! But what an idea is yours of energy .'' You feel a con- 
stitutional irritability — you indulge it, and you call that indul- 
gence energy. Sudden fits of spleen — transient starts of pas- 
sion — wild paroxysms of fury, the more slow and secret work- 
ings of envy and resentment — cruel taunts and sarcasms — the 
dreams of disordered fancy — the crude abortions of short-sighted 
theory — the delirium and ravings of a hectic fever — this is your 
notion of energy ! Heaven preserve our country from such en- 
ergy as this! If this be the kind of energy which you deny to 
Mr. Madison, the people of this country will concur in your 
denial. But if you deny him that salutary energy which quali- 
fies him to pursue his country's happiness and to defend her 
rights, we follow up the course of his public life and demand the 



214 



ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1803. 



proof of your charge : for we beg you not to think so highly of 
yourselves, nor so meanly of us, as to suppose that your general 
assertion Avill pass with us for proofs : we have not yet seen the 
evidence of candor and virtue which entitles you to this high 
ground. To your proofs then, and to the retrospect of his life. 
Do you remember that dark and disastrous period, during the 
administration of General Washington, when the British marine 
was taking some of those stately strides, which threatened to crush 
our infant commerce in the bud ? Do you remember the resolutions 
brought forward by Mr, Madison at that period, to restrict the 
British commerce itself, and avenge the wrongs done to his coun- 
try ? Do you remember those celebrated resolutions, and the rap- 
tures of aj)plause with which they were received by the people 
for their well-timed and well-directed energy? It maybe con- 
venient to you not to remember these things. But do not believe 
that ive shall forget tiiem ; nor that we shall fail to compare the 
spirited and highly applauded policy which he recommended, then, 
with the policy which our present wise and virtuous republican 
minority, are recommending toward the same nation now, on ac- 
count of the same kind of aggressions. * * * * 

" Again, was Mr. Madison's want of energy shewn in the year 
n99? In that year, ' the political hemisphere' was so far from 
having ' brightened a little,' that its darkness had thickened till it 
could be felt. The Alien and Sedition laws waved their baleful 
sceptres over the continent, and the bosoms of patriots were every 
where filled with consternation, and, almost with despair. It was 
believed that public liberty had no hope, no refuge but in the State 
governments. It had been announced from the presidental chair, 
that there was a party in Virginia which was to be ' ground into 
dust and ashes.' The resolutions of Colonel Taylor in 1798, 
treated with neglect or contempt by the other great States, had 
proved that the Legislature of Virginia was the last stand of our 
political freedom and happiness: — and to crown the climax of 
danger and disconsolation, the distinguished Patrick Henry came 
again from retirement, with the view, as it was understood, to 
assault and dislodge them from this their last station. Such was 
the inauspicious, the all-important, the decisive crisis, when James 
Madison, with a frame still languishing under sickness, but with a 
spirit firm, erect and intrepid, came forth in the cause of liberty 



CHAP. XVI] MR. MADISON. 245 

and his country. Who can forget that moment? Who can forget 
how the little band of Virginian patriots crowded around this re- 
publican champion to catch the accents of a voice rendered feeble 
by disease .'' Even yet we have this virtuous and fraternal group 
before us. Who can forget how the night of despair first began 
to give way ; — how hope, at first, faintly dawned upon each cheek, 
as uncertain of the issue ; until under the inspiring strains of his 
voice, she assumed a deep and determined glow and sparkled with 
exultation in every eye.-* Who can forget the resplendent triumph 
of truth and reason exhibited in his report.'' Who that loves his 
country can cease to love the man, whose genius and firmness 
gained that triumph ? Not the American people, be assured, gen- 
tlemen. Yet we find that one of you, under the signature of Falk- 
land, in a late Enquirer, can recall that epoch with far different 
emotions; can gratify his spleen by fancying what would have 
been the result of a renconlre between Mr. Henry and Mr. Madi- 
son, if it had not been prevented by the death of the former; — how 
the genius of Madison would have sunk and fled before the impet- 
uous and overwhelming eloquence of Mr. Henry. The writer 
obviously derives a species of malignant pleasure from brooding 
over this imaginary triumph, although if gained, it would have been 
at the expense of his country. This is his virtue : this, too, is his 
candor! Had he forgotten the convention of Virginia, where 
Henry, in all his glory, was foiled by the transcendant powers of 
James Madison .-' Or did he think the defence of the Alien and 
Sedition laws a better cause, than the contending for previous 
amendments to the Constitution.-* Wretched, most wretched is 
the fate of that writer or that man who deserts the plain higliway 
of conscience and of candor, for the dark and crooked mazes of 
intrigue and cunning — of trick and misrepresentation : he may, as 
the wise son of Sirach has said, ' work his way for a time, like a 
mole under ground, but by-and-bye, he blunders into light and 
stands exposed with all his dirt upon his head.' 

" Mr. Madison, it seems, left his post in Congress, in the moment 
of danger, and took refuge in retirement. This is just as candid 
as the rest of your reproaches. The case was this. INIr. Madi- 
son had devoted two-and-twenty years of the prime and flower of 
his life to the service of his country : he had not spent those jears 

VOL. 1—21* 



246 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [ISO?. 

in saying ' yea and nay,' nor, what is worse, in venting barbarous 
sarcasms, in writing protests disgraceful to his virtue and under- 
standing, and in playing the part of Thersites in the camp of 
Agamemnon ! No ; those years had been spent in beneficial 
services, in the discharge of the most arduous duties, in the most 
intense and unrelaxing exertion of his pre-eminent faculties in the 
cause of liberty and republican government. In the mean time, 
his private atfairs had been neglected — his constitution had 
received a serious shock — his health was in a visible and alarm- 
ing decline. In these circumstances, at the close of General 
Washington's administration, he sought an interval to put his 
estate in order, to recruit his health, if that were possible, or, if 
otherwise, to provide for the awful change which he had too 
much reason to apprehend. It was in 1797 and '98 that he was 
thus engaged. But we have seen, that in 1799, when the dangers 
of his country had increased almost to desperation, although his 
health was so far from being confirmed that it had become worse, 
he again made his appearance on the political theatre, with the 
same signal gallantry, which had ever distinguished him. He has 
been in public life ever since. And those two years of repose and 
of private duty, so reasonable, so necessary to him, are what you 
would have us to consider as a cowardly flight from danger ! We 
are not barbarians. You defeat your own purpose, gentlemen ; 
}'0U wish to destroy Mr. Madison ; but you force us to recall his 
services and to reflect how immaculate must be that life, against 
which malice itself can bring no better charges. 

" But let us see how well this quadrates with your next charge. 
This is, that Mr. Madison, in conjunction with Mr. Jay and Mr. 
Hamilton, wrote the work called The Federalist, in which the 
most objectionable doctrines of the latter are maintained. Now 
the objection to the doctrines of the latter gentlemen was, that 
they were too energetic. In one breath, then, Mr. Madison wants 
energy — in the next he has too much of it. — This is the unity and 
consistency of truth. — But, why, again, are you so vague and so 
general in this charge about the Federalist.'' — Our jurists tell us 
' dolus lalel in gencralibus ' — deception lurks in general expres- 
sions ; and the truth of the maxim was never more strikingly 
exemplified than in your treatment of Mr. Madison. You mount 



CHAP. XVI.l MR. MADISON. 247 



some eminence, and with a trumpet to your mouth, you bawl out, 
' Yazoo,' 'want of energy,' 'the Federalist — Jay and Hamilton.' 
It does not suit you to descend to particulars, because you know 
that the charges require but to be seriously examined, and they 
are at once falsified and exposed. You know the odium attached 
to the words which you utter, and regarding your countrymen as 
a pack from the kennel, you seem to think tiiat you have nothing 
to do, but to point out the game and set us on. But we are not 
(juite such beasts as you are pleased, most respectfully to consider 
us. Instead of being ready to worry a patriot whose virtues 
olfend you, we will protect and cherish him against your injustice 
and most undeserving persecution. The Federalist .' We know 
that it is a defence of the Constitution which we are all sworn to 
support : and where is the crime of Mr. Madison's having par- 
ticipated in that defence ? Is it criminal in Mr. Madison to have 
defended the Constitution by written argument, and yet not 
criminal in you and in us to have sworn to support it .'' This is 
another evolution of the strength and clearness of your discern- 
ment ! Since you will not descend to particularize the passages 
in the Federalist which Mr. Madison wrote and which give you 
oft'ence, permit us to extract one which is calculated to give you 
consolation in the prospect before you, since it promises the continu- 
ance of your honorable existence as a body : — ' Liberty is to 
faction, what air is to fire ; an aliment, without whicli it instantly 
expires. But it could not be a less folly to abolish liberty, which 
is essential to political life, because it nourishes faction, than it 
would be to wish the annihilation of air which is essential to 
animal life, because it imparts to fire its destructive agency.' 
Tins is a general answer to a general charge. When you give 
that charge a definite form, it shall receive a definite answer." 

The letters conclude with a retaliatory assault upon the pro- 
testors : 

" There is obviously an effort to keep back a part of your 
wishes. Speak out, gentlemen ; after the lengths which you have 
gone, it is the height of folly to be squeamish. Or, if you will not 
speak out, we will do it for you. This is your wish. You wish 
some man to be appointed the next President, who, you believe, 
looks upon the present administration with the same hostility 
which you do ; in other words, you are displeased with the 



248 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1S08. 

cliaracter of the present administration, and you wish a different 
character to be introduced. Tliis is the whole of the secret with 
which YOU have been laboring and floundering throughout this 
most unfoitunate, sel-murdering Protest. But you perceive that 
the people of tbe United States are of a different opinion. They 
approve the character of the present administration ; they wish 
that character continued ; they know that it will be continued by 
tlie election of Mr. Madison. These are truths which stare you 
in the face, and fill you with the pangs and agonies of despair. 
The prospect of being again in a little and wretciied minority 
during the next administration, is more than your proud and 
lofty spirits can support. — Learn tlien to avoid it. Learn to 
have no interests but those of the people. Forget the wicked 
dreams of ambition, which have disturbed vour brains. Return 
to virtue and to the people ; and the people will forgive you."" 

These letters attracted a great deal of observation. Replies 
were published, and a war of considerable virulence was waged 
between the author and liis opponents. Some references to this 
will be seen in his correspondence of this year. 

We are struck in the perusal of these papers of " One of the 
People," with the acrimony of the discussion. They shew us 
that the political asperities of our own day are inherited from 
another generation, and belong, we may infer, to the nature of our 
government, and in some degree, perhaps, to the character of our 
race. Few men were more tolerant of opinion than Wirt, {^\s 
less likely to be excited by political stimulants into the exhibition 
of acerbity of temper: — but we may remark also that no man 
was ever more prompt or zealous to defend a friend from tlie as- 
saults of an enemy than he. In the performance of this office for 
Mr. Madison, he may have indulged a sharper tone of rebuke and 
a larger license of invective than his own judgment, in a moment 
of more repose, might approve. His letters to his friends, contem- 
porary with tiicsc political effusions, seem to imply this. The 
authors of the Protest were gentlemen of high standing in the 
country, many of them distinguished, then and afterwards, for 
tiicir devotion to the public welfare and effective usefulness in the 
national councils; and, in after life, personally esteemed by Mr. 
Wirt, as friends worthy of all regard. They had, however, com- 
menced the war, and could hardly expect less quarter than they 



CHAP. XVI.] ELECTED TO THE LEGISLATURE. 249 

received in the conflict, — tliough, we may suppose, little ex- 
pecting to encounter the champion which Richmond supplied in 
"One of the People." 

Whilst these letters were in progress of publication, Wirt found 
himself most unexpectedly, and without any agency on his own 
part, proposed to the city of Richmond as a candidate to represent 
that constituency in the House of Delegates, His opponent was 
Colonel Carrington, one of the most worthy and influential gen- 
tlemen in that community. Quite as unexpectedly he was elected. 

Writing to Mrs. Wirt from Williamsbuig, on the 11th of April, 
1808, some days before the election in Richmond was to be held, 
he says — 

" There is an election here to-day, which reminds me of that 
in Richmond. The total indifference with which I contemplate 
the Richmond election, convinces me that political ambition is not 
one of my sins. In many points of view it would be permanently 
and infinitely to my advantage to be left out. I beg you, there- 
fore, not to heave one sigh at Col. C's election, nor think that 
your husband is the less respected by the wise and the good, 
because he is not preferred by the freeholders of Richmond to 
Colonel C. It is no disparagement to any young man that a patriot 
so old, so long tried, so virtuous and so worthy in every point of 
view as Col. C. is preferred to him. I regret extremely that, by 
being unintentionally and unexpectedly drawn into collision with 
him, I have been made to have the appearance of implying a 
doubt of his fitness, or of entertaining a vain opinion of my own; 
both which opinions I most sincerely disclaim. But you know 
how I was brought into this scrape, which, I promise you, is the 
last one of the kind." 

The history of political contest in the United States does not 
often present specimens of reserve and modest personal estimate 
resembling this. We record such manifestations of opinion as is 
here implied, both in regard to what is due to the public service, 
and to the humility of self-judgment, with a peculiar pleasure, for 
the instruction of the present generation, when almost every man 
seems to believe himself gifted with all the attributes of wisdom, 
talents and learning necessary to the discharge of any public 
function whatever. At this day, when the most profound pro- 
blems of political economy and jurisprudence, and all the myste- 



250 LETTER TO MR. MONROE. [1803. 

ries of wise legislation, and all the science necessary for skilful 
diplomacy, are supposed " to come by nature," or to derive their 
highest finish and perfection from the severe discipline of the 
stump, and to find in every forum erected at a counti'y cross road 
or porcli of a village tavern, an academy competent to furnish full 
blown and accomplished statesmen, it may be well to recur to the 
example of that earlier epoch of our republic, when a man so 
gifted as William Wirt, so laboriously trained and so successfully 
tried, could speak in such terms of distrust as to his fitness for a 
seat in a State Legislature. Forty years ago, evidently, the men 
of America were not so confident as they have grown of late. 
Tlie mai-ch of intellect, which we now call " Progress," has done 
wonders in the supply of the finished material of statesmanship. 

In the presidential contest of this year, the opposition to Mr. 
Madison, had, in part, looked to Mr. Monroe as a point of concen- 
tration. He was named as the competitor of the caucus candidate, 
and a strong effort was made to give him the support of the re- 
publican party. Mr. Wirt, as we have seen, enjoyed the friend- 
ship of Mr. Monroe, equally with that of Mr. Madison. Indeed 
the personal relation which he held to Mr. Monroe was even 
more intimate and confidential than that which he held to his com- 
petitor. This circumstance led to the choice of Wirt as one of 
a committee in Richmond to promote the success of Mr. Monroe's 
election. When this choice was communicated to him, he declined 
the appointment, and took occasion to explain to Mr. Monroe the 
grounds upon which he did so — his preference, at that juncture, 
for Mr. Madison. The following letter has reference to this mat- 
ter, and presents, in an advantageous light, the delicacy and frank- 
ness of the writer. It is proper to remark, that this letter was 
written before the occasion had arisen for the essays signed "One 
of the People." 

TO JAMES MONROE. 

Richmond, February 8, 1808, 
Dear Sir : 

On going into court to-day, I found business enough cut out for 
mc to kce[) me closely engaged both to-night and to-morrow fore- 
noon. So that it will not be until to-morrow evening that I shall 



CtlAP. XVr.] LETTER TO MR. MONROE. 251 

have it in my power to see you on the subject to which you re- 
ferred this morning. 

Feeling- for you the same sincere and cordial friendship that I 
have ever done, since I had first the pleasure of knowing you, and 
conscious that I was now as worthy of your confidence as I have 
ever been, it did not occur to me this morning to state to you a cir- 
cumstance which, perhaps, may make it less agreeable to you to 
communicate with me on the proposed subject, and which may 
diminish the weight of any friendly opinion which I may give on it. 
On recalling our short interview of this morning, I think that can- 
dor and honor require me to mention this circumstance. It is this. 
I was called on to act as One of the standing committee to promote 
your electoral ticket. I declined it; stating that although per- 
sonally more warmly attached to you than to Mr. Madison — for I 
knew you much better — and although I thought it would make 
very little difference to the happiness of the people of the United 
States which of you was President, yet, for political considera- 
tions, I preferred Mr. Madison. I went further, — for it was a 
mutual friend of ours who spoke to me, — I added that I much 
feared if your friends persisted in running you, after the sense of 
the State and of the United States should be, at least, strongly 
indicated, if not demonstrated by the votes of the Slate and con- 
gressional Legislatures, that it might have a permanently ill effect 
on your political standing. For, although I myself, and the friends 
here who are in the habit of intercourse with you, might know 
tlie ti'uth, yet I feared there ^vas danger that the people of the 
United States might be led^ to incorporate and identify you with 
the minority in Congress, the opponents of the present most popular 
administration. And, if they should take such an opinion in their 
heads, I feared that you were gone irretrievably. Indeed, my 
dear sir, so strongly have I felt this apprehension, that I have 
been several times on the point of going and expressing it to you. 
Nor has any thing restrained me from it but that, having expressed 
a preference for Mr. Madison, I thought it might be considered 
indelicate, if no worse, in me to attempt to remove the competition. 

I have thought it proper tlius to disclose to you what lias been 
my past course and opinions on this subject; submitting it to your 
own feelings entirely, whether, after this, you would clioose to 
communicate with me as you intended. If this be still your 



252 MR. MONROE'S REPLY, [1808. 

pleasure, I sliall be happy to wait on you, and I shall be prepared 
to give you as sincere and friendly an opinion, as if this presidential 
competition had never occurred, for I am, in deed and in truth, 

Your friend, 

Wm, Wirt. 

Whilst we have this letter before us, it may be well to show 
with what impressions Mr. Monroe received this friendly explana- 
tion. This we are enabled to do from a letter of his to Mr. Wirt, 
not written in reply to this, but some months afterwards, when the 
presidential contest had terminated in the election of Mr. Madi- 
son. The communication from Wirt, referred to in this letter, I 
have not seen. Doubtless the issue of the late contest had opened 
Mr. Monroe's mind to the suspicion that his friends might have 
misconstrued his motives and purposes, in submitting his name to 
the competition in which it was used ; and, we may suppose also, 
that they felt all the dilficulties of the position in which he was 
placed : that Wirt had intimated this to him, in the letter to 
which this is a reply. This letter from Mr. Monroe expresses, 
with an honorable sensibility, his perception of this embarrass- 
ment of his friends, and leaves nothing to mar the esteem and 
confidence which had so long subsisted between himself and the 
individual to whom it is addressed. 

Richmond, December 20, 1808. 
Dear Sir : 

Your letter of this day has equally sui'prised and hurt me, 
by intimating a suspicion that it was my desire, on account of the 
late presidential contest, to separate from such of my old friends 
as took part against me. I really thought that my conduct had, in 
no instance, given the slightest cause for such a suspicion. Let 
me ask, has it done so in regard to you ? Did I not consult you 
on some important topics, after I knew that you were not in my 
favor.'' And have I ever returned to town, after an absence from 
it, without calling on you ? Have you ever returned those 
calls } 

These circumstances produced no effect on my mind of aliena- 
tion. I considered the existing state as being equally painful to 
them and me, and I waited for its transit to show what my real 



CHAP. XVI.] LETTERS TO CARR. 253 

feeling and disposition were to those of my old friends alluded to. 
You will be sensible that while that contest depended, the deli- 
cacy of my situation im])osed on me the necessity of much retire- 
ment, and that by observing it, I respected the personal honor and 
independence of my friends, as well as my own. 

It is a fact, that at the moment I received your letter, I was en 
gaged in writing notes to yourself and other friends to dine with 
me on Thursday. This will show that I shall accept your invi- 
tation with pleasure for that day, postponing my invitation to the 
next. I need not add that I shall, at all times, be happy to see 
and confer with you on such topics as you desire. 
Being very sincerely, 

Your friend, 

James Monroe. 

We recur now to the track of Mr. Wirt's correspondence, 
offering a few letters which were written during the period of the 
political excitements I have described. In these letters will be 
found some glimpses of personal history which may not be unac- 
ceptable to the reader. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, May 11, 1808. 

My Dear Friend: 

****** 

The essays signed " One of the People" were written by me 
under the pressure of importunity from some of my friends here, 
at a period when I could ill spare the time, and in such haste that 
the printer's boy was, half the time I was engaged in them, pushing 
me for the copy. Under such circumstances you will not be sur- 
prised that the composition is loose and coarse, and the style, in 
many passages, marked with a heat and asperity which the sub- 
ject did not require. 

I wish I had taken more time about them. The cause was a 

good one, and the protestors might have been castigated with a 

decorum at which the modest cheek of Madison would have felt 

no blush. But it is too late to repine ; I must endeavor to profit 

VOL. 1—22 



254 LETTERS TO CARR. [1608. 

by experience, and to keep myself more cool and discreet here- 
after. 

You have seen the reply by " One of the Protestors." This is 

. His style is certainly not that of a gentleman, and my first 

impulse was to have answered him cum argumento baculmo; but 
remembering that I was the aggressor, and had, perhaps, treated 
the gentleman a little harshly, my next impulse was to suffer the 
vapid stuft" to die in peace, and the party to sink down without 
interruption, into that nothingness to which they are so rapidly 
tending. Some of my friends here think 1 ought to reply. Will 
not this be giving an importance to those publications which they 
do not deserve. -* Will it not he impoliticly proiractrng the exis- 
tence of the minority .'' Will they not perish soon enough of them- 
selves if we let them alone } 

When I said, in the Enquirer, that I should be glad to receive 
the promised respects of " One of the Protestors," I made sure 
that John Randolph was coming out. I would iiave engaged with 
Achilles, but I do not relish a combat with one of his myrmidons. 
If I thought, however, that the people, I mean the judicious part 
of them, expected it of me, I would reply to him. What do they 
say with you.^ What does Peter say of it.^ What do you say? 
Let me have your answer as soon as possible, since, if I am to 
reply, it ought to be done immediately. 

****** 

Let me be remembered to all our friends. 

Heaven bless you, 

Wm. Wirt. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, May 23, 1808. 
My Dear Chevalier: 

****** 

I was not much pleased with the style of" One of the People." 
1 am sorry for having written it — not for anything that the calf 's- 
head, " One of the Protestors," has said, but because I do not 
think that it is in the style in which Mr. Madison should be de- 
fended, nor in which any man should write who aspires at main- 
taining in society a pure and dignified character. The protestors 



CHAP XVI] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 255 

deserved to be scorched ; but I think it might have been done 
even more elFectually, and certainly more to the honor both of 
Mr. Madison and the writer, by a chaste and polite style. But 
the die is cast — and the question is how to carry on the game. 

This niornina: lias broudit out the tliird and last number of 
" One of the Protestors." A more infamous piece of personal 
abuse, of the very lowest order, has never been published. All 
my friends here concur in the opinion that he does not deserve a 
reply. I shall, perhaps, give him a short one ; but the Court of 
Appeals and Federal Court being both in session, and there being 
several of my clients in town pestering me with the examination 
of Commissioner's reports, I have not a moment to give to tlie 
consideration of the protestor. 

Meantime you would be pleased to see with what composure 
and peace I take this scurrility. I believe that it can do me no 
possible injury. If I thought it could, I would certainly resort to 
the stick. But while my life is constantly belying his charges, 
they will not be relied on. The reader who does not know me 
will inquire into their truth of those who do, and learning that 
they are false, will estimate the writer as he deserves, and me as 
I deserve. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

I conclude this chapter with another letter to Mr. Edwards, 
filled as all Wirt's letters to this worthy gentleman are, with the 
affection and gratitude of a son. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, July 2, 1808. 
Mv Dear and Ever Honored Friend and Father : 

I have read, half a dozen times, Avith swimming eyes, your 
precious letter of the 8th of April last. Our courts have been 
sitting, without intermission, ever since the 1st of February till 
the 28th of last month, or I should sooner have acknowledged 
your goodness in writing to me under so much pain. Your 
friendship and affection for me, are among the purest and sweetest 



256 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1808. 

sources of happiness that I have upon this earth. Judge, then, 
with what feelings I hear of your ill health. Yet I trust that the 
same gracious Providence, " who makes the good his care," and 
who raised you once before from the bed of torture, will spare 
you still to your family and friends. I have been afraid that you 
do not take exercise enough, yet Mr. Street, the editor of " The 
Western World," handed me, the day before yesterday, a letter 
from my brother Ninian, dated April 11th, three days after yours, 
in which he says that you had been, lately, at his house. That, I 
apprehend, is nearly as long a journey as would bring you to the 
mineral waters in Virginia. Would not this excursion, aided by 
the waters and the animation of the company, promise to give a 
lone to your system, and remove the torpor and debility of which 
you complain. 

I wish you could believe it prudent and advisable for you to 
take such a step, because I should then have it in my power to see 
you once more. I would certainly meet you at the Springs, and 
receive your blessing ; and my wife and children, from the senti- 
ments they have for you, would accompany me, with all the piety 
of pilgrims. My imagination has dwelt upon this meeting, until I 
begin to feel a strong presentiment that it will certainly take 
place. My brother Ninian and his family would, I dare say, 
attend you. What a happy group should we form ! How would 
we talk over the days that are past, till torpor and debility, and 
sickness and sorrow would fiy and leave us to our enjoyments. 
What do you say to this project .'' I have a sanguine hope that 
you will find it as judicious in reference to your health, as I am 
sure it would be exquisitely grateful to your feelings. And if 
we meet once, and your health should become settled again, 
might we not devise a scheme of meeting at the same place every 
two or three years } By these means our children would become 
acquainted, and the friendship which has subsisted between us, 
would be continued in them. 

I leave it to your heart and your fancy to develope this idea, 
tjirough all its consequences. To me, the anticipation, merely, 
]s delightful ; and, in spite of Mr. Harvie's doctrine to the con- 
trary, I believe, the reality would be still more so. Will you not 
think of this } Take medical counsel upon it, and let me know 
tl)e result } 



CHAP. XVr.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 257 

Yes ! — there is nothing more true than what you say. " When 
we must die, there is nothing like a well-grounded hope of future 
iiappiness, except a perfect faith, Avhich removes all douht." I 
thank God that I have lived long enough, and seen sorrow enough, 
to he convinced that religion is the proper element of the soul, 
where alone it is at home and at rest. That to any other state, it 
is an alien, vagrant, restless, perturbed and miserable, — dazzled for 
an hour by a dream of temporal glory, but awaking to disappoint- 
ment and permanent anguish. It is the bed of death which chases 
away all these illusive vapors of the brain which have cheated 
us through life, and which shews us to ourselves, naked as we are. 
Then, if not sooner, every man finds the truth of your sentiment, the 
importance of a well-grounded Christian hope of future happiness. 
We need not, indeed, so awful a monitor as a death-bed, to con- 
vince us of the instability of earthly hopes of any kind. We 
have but to look upon nations abroad, and men at home, to see 
that evervthing under the sun is uncertain and fluctuatins: ; that 
prosperity is a cheat, and virtue often but a name. Look upon 
the map of Europe. See what it was fifty or sixty years ago — 
what it has since been, and what it is likely to become. For- 
merly partitioned into separate, independent and energetic monar- 
chies, with vigorous chiefs at their head, maintaining with in- 
finite policy, the balance of power among them, and believing 
that balance eternal: France, in the agonies of the birth of 
liberty, her campus martins resounding with fetes, in celebration 
of that event: the contagion spreading into other nations: mon- 
archs trembling for their crowns, and combining to resist the 
diffusion of the example: the champions of liberty, and Bona- 
parte among the rest, victorious every where, and every where 
carrying with them the wishes and prayers of America. Yet 
now see, all at once, the revolution gone, like a flash of lightning; 
France suddenly buried beneath the darkness of despotism, and 
the voracious tyrant swallowing up kingdom after kingdom. The 
combining monarchs thought that they were in danger of nothing 
but the propagation of the doctrines of liberty ; but ruin has come 
upon them from another quarter. The doctrines cf liberty are at 
an end, and so are the monarchies of Europe — all fused and 
melted down into one great and consolidated despotism. How 
often have I drunk that Caesar's health, with a kind of religious 
VOL. 1—22* 



258 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [180^. 

I 

devotion ! How did all America stand on tiptoe, during his bril- 
liant campaigns in Italy at the head of the army of the republic ! 
AV'ith what rapture did we follow his career ; and how did our 
bosoms bound at the prospect of an emancipated world ! Yet 
see in what it has all ended ! The total extinction of European 
liberty, and the too probable prospect of an enslaved world. 
Alas ! what are human calculations of happiness ; and who can 
ever more rely upon them ! 

If we look to the state of things in our own country, still 
we shall be forced to cry, " all is vanity and vexation of spirit." 
l^ook at the public prints with which our country is deluged, 
and see the merciless massacre of public and private character, 
oi' social and domestic peace and happiness. Look at the de- 
bates in Congress. Where is the coolness, the decorum, the cor- 
dial comparison of ideas for the public good, which you would 
look for in an assembly of patriots and freemen, such as Avas seen 
in the old Congress of 1776 .'' Nothing of it is now to be seen. 
All IS rancor, abuse, hostility and hatred, confusion and ruin. 

^ * tP * ^ tP * 

According to my present impressions of happiness, I would not 
exchange the good opinion of one virtuous and judicious man, for 
the acclamation of the millions that inhabit our country; not that 
these would not be grateful, — but as for taking them as a basis of 
happiness, I would as soon think of building a house on the bil- 
lows of the sea. 

****** 

Yours most sincerely, 

Wm. \^'IRT. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

1809. 

HIS SERVICE IN THE LEGISLATURE PREFERENCE FOR PRIVATE LIFE 

LETTERS TO EDWARDS LITERARY DREAMS ACRIMONY OF PARTY POLI- 
TICS — EDUCATION MISGIVINGS IN REGARD TO THE GOVERNMENT. 

Wirt''s service in the Legislature of Virginia, during the ses- 
sion of the winter of 1808-9, was the beginning and end of his 
connection with public life through the medium of popular elec- 
tion. This assumption of the character of a representative, may 
be regarded rather as an accident in his career than the result of 
any meditated plan. He seems to have been impressed with the 
conviction that popular favor was too frail a staff for a wise man 
to lean upon for support, however useful it might sometimes be to 
enable him to walk more rapidly upon his journey, or leap over 
an occasional impediment in his path. Confiding in his ability to 
move onward without this help, he preferred the success which 
was to be won by his own labors in a private sphere, to the re- 
nown which he might reasonably have expected from the exhibi- 
tion of his talents upon the stage of public business. We may not 
impute this determination to a want of civic virtue. We have 
seen that no man in the community of which he was a member 
was more prompt than he to make a personal sacrifice to public 
duty when it seemed to be required ; nor w^as there any who felt 
a more lively concern in the progress of public events. We have 
the proof of this in the readiness with which he volunteered his 
services in expectation of the war, and in the zeal with which he 
participated in the great question of the presidential election. We 
may infer from these incidents, that he would not have refused a 
summons to the duties of public station, if he had believed that his 
personal submission to such a call were enjoined upon him by any 
clear exigency which could not have been met by other citizens 
as well adapted to the service and more anxious to undertake it. 
His modest estimate of himself, so apparent in bis letters, sug- 



260 SERVICE IN THE LEGISLATURE. [1809. 

gested to him, doubtless, that no such exigency could exist, and 
thus justified him in the resolution he had adopted. The theory 
of our government clearly implies a duty on the part of every 
citizen, to render such service to the state as may be necessary 
to the conduct of its affairs, and which it may be in his power to 
contribute. Where the people make this demand upon any one 
citizen, his refusal to comply with it can only be justified by the 
fact that others as capable may be found, or that his compliance 
may expose him to the sacrifice of important personal interests, 
such as the community have no right to ask of a citizen except in 
some great public emergency. It does not often happen that an 
occasion arises to test the strength of this obligation, and, there- 
fore, it is but little familiarized to the reflections of the people, — 
although we are not without notable and illustrious examples in 
our history, of the grave submission of the wisest and most en- 
lightened patriots to its dictation. 

During the brief term of Wirt's service in the Legislature, 
we have to note his participation in a proceeding there which 
attracted much public attention in the State, from its connection 
with an exciting topic of national concern. The interesting pos- 
ture of our affairs, in relation to the principal belligerents of 
Europe, had fallen under the notice of the Legislature in some 
resolutions upon the subject, which were referred to a special 
committee, of which the delegate from Richmond was one. A 
report upon the resolutions was drawn up by him. This report 
presented a review of the French decrees against American com- 
merce, and of the British orders in Council, in both of which the 
country had found so much to vex and exasperate the national 
pride. The theme was treated with the spirit characteristic of 
the time, and furnished occasion for the expression of strong and 
indignant language, pointed and polished with all the skill which 
the author was able to employ. In his review of the subject, the 
course of Mr. Jefferson's administration was brought into notice, and 
was vindicated with the zeal of an advocate impelled not more by 
conscientious approval of the wisdom of its policy, than by warm 
personal friendship for the leader by whom it was directed. 

With this brief reference to the short political episode in the 
career of the subject of my memoir, I continue his letters. 



CHAP. XVII.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 261 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, February 2G, 1809. 
Dear Sir: 

tF % tF * * ^ 

And now let me tell you how grateful I feel for this, " the long- 
est letter that you have written since the commencement of your 
disease." It is so perfectly in the style of your conversation that 
I heard the sound of your voice in every line and saw every turn 
in the well remembered expression of your face. # * * 
There are parts of your letter which make me smile. You wish 
me to aspire to the Presidency of the United States : — this is so 
much like your Mount Pleasant talk ! Then, it was extravagant 
enough, although at that time I was but sixteen or seventeen years 
of age and had a whole life before me to work wonders in ; but 
Qiow you seem to forget that I am in my six and thirtieth year, by 
which time the color of a man's destiny is pretty well fixed, and 
that besides being so old, I have yet a fortune to make for my 
family before I could turn my thoughts to politics. No, no, my dear 
friend, I make no such extravagant calculations of future great- 
ness. If I can make my family independent and leave to my chil- 
dren the inheritance of a respectable name, my expectations, and, 
believe me, my icishes, will be fulfilled. For the office of Secre- 
tary of State, under Mr. Madison, I am just about as fit as I am to 
be the Pope of Rome : — nor ought I, nor would I accept it, in my 
present circumstances. It would be to sacrifice my wife and chil- 
dren on the altar of political ambition. I have no such ambition, 
and my not having it, is one among a thousand proofs that I am 
unfit for that kind of life ; for nature, I believe, never yet gave 
the capacity without the inclination. I am writing unaffectedly 
and from my heart. I know enough of the world to know that 
political power is not happiness, and that my happiness 
is nowhere but in private life and in the bosom of my 
beloved family. I think I may be able to attain distinction 
enough in my profession to have it in my power, in ten years, 
to retire from the bar into the country and give myself up to 
the luxury of literature and my fireside. You will say that 
this is selfish — that a man's first duty is to his country ; and 
you will tell me of Curtius and Cato, and Brutus. I admit the 



262 DISLIKE OF POLITICAL LIFE. [1909. 

grandeur of their virtues, but I am neither a Curtius, a Cato, nor a 
Brutus. Tliere are thousands of my countrymen better qualified 
tlian myself for those high offices, and as willing as capable. 
Should I attempt to give myself the precedence to such men, it 
would not be love of country, but self, that would impel me. The 
wish to see my country prosper is not compatible with a wish to 
see the reins of government in hands that are unfit to hold them ; 
and to wish them in my own, would be to wish them in such 
hands. Hence my duty to my country is so far from opposing that 
it accords with the real wish of my heart for independence and 
domestic peace. These aie the principles by whicli I am regula- 
ting my life, and I should be almost as sorry to have them dis- 
turbed, as a christian would the foundations of his faith. 

Monroe is certainly a virtuous and excellent man. I opposed his 
election, but my opinion of him is unaltered. By-the-bye, my dear 
WMfe, who is a good federalist by inheritance, drew her pencil 
through that part of your letter in whicii you speak of the fed- 
eralists and tories who supported his election. She wanted to 
show your letter to her mother, but as both her father and mother 
are federalists, of the first water^ and supported Monroe, she was 
afraid that this passage would defeat the efl'ect which she wished 
the letter to produce — that is, to inspire them with the same love 
and respect for you w'hich she feels herself". I think it a misfor- 
tune to Monroe that he had the support of which you speak ; but 
as it was unsolicited and undesired by him I do not think he ought 
to be blamed for it. I wish the federalists were all like 
you — Madisonian federalists ; and I wish the republicans were 
all like him, — that is, tolerant, candid, charitable and dis- 
passionate. I should then have some hopes of the dura- 
tion of the republic; — but as it is — may Heaven protect us! If 
you knew Mr. Jefferson personally and intimately, you would 
know him to be among the most simple and artless characters 
upon earth. His fault is, that he is too unguarded: if he had 
more of General Washington's reserve, he would be less in the 
power of his enemies than he is. I do not know that this would 
make him a more amiable man, but it would make him a happier 
one. 



CHAP. XVII.] 



LOCKE'S ESSAY. 263 



I am delighted with the account you give me of Cyrus' parts. 
Has he read Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding ? If not, 
I wish he would try it ; I consider it a pretty good test of a young 
man's vigor. When I was about fourteen years old, a friend made 
me very flattering promises, if I would read Locke through twice, 
and produce a certificate from a gentleman whom he named, that 
I was master of his meaning. He intimated that I should be 
considered as a sort of. phenomenon if I achieved this task. It 
was on Sunday, I recollect, when I received this letter, and I 
went instantly to Parson Hunt's library, took out the book, and 
spreading a blanket on the floor, up stairs, laid down flat on my 
breast, — the posture in which I had been accustomed to get my 
Homer's lesson, and which I therefore supposed was peculiarly 
favorable to the exertion of the mind. I was soon heels over head 
among " innate ideas," subjects which I had never before heard of, 
and on which I had not a single idea of any kind, either innate or 
acquired. I stuck to him, however, manfully, and plunged on, 
pretty intelligently, till I got to his chapter on " Identity and 
Diversity," and there I stuck fast, in the most hopeless despair ; 
nor did I ever get out of that mire, until I again met with the 
book in Albemarle, when I was about twenty- three years of 
age. Even then, as I approached the chapter on Identity and 
Diversity, I felt as shy as the Scotch parson's horse did when 
re-passing, in summer, part of a road in which he had stuck fast 
the preceding winter. Cyrus is two years beyond the time at 
which I made the experiment, and I do not doubt that he 
will bound over it like the reindeer over the snows of Lapland. 
Locke is certainly a frigid writer to a young man of high 
fancy. But whoever wishes to train himself to address the 
human judgment successfully, ought to make Locke his bosom 
friend and constant companion. He introduces his reader to a 
most intimate acquaintance with the structure and constitution 
of the mind : unfolds every property which belongs to it ; shews 
how alone the judgment can be approached and acted on ; through 
what avenues, and with what degrees of proof, a man may calcu- 
late, with certainty, on its different degrees of assent. Besides this, 
Locke's book is auxiliary to the same process for which I have 
been so earnestly recommending the mathematics ; that is, giving 
to the mind a fixed and rooted habit of clear, close, cogent and 



264 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1809. 

irresistible reasoning. The man who can read Locke for an 
hour or two, and then lay him down and argue feebly upon any 
subject, may hang up his fiddle for life ; to such a one, nature 
must have denied the original stamina of a great mind. 
****** 
That Heaven may restore and confirm your health, and continue 
to smile with beneficence upon yourself and your family, (who, I 
believ^e, are as dear to my heart as the closest consanguinity could 
make them,) is the devout and fervent prayer of 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next letter contains a pleasant day-dream, characteristic of 
the ambition of the writer, but which unfortunately was never 
realized. We may smile at this picture of hopes which the con- 
tingencies of after life may be said rather to have displaced for 
others more brilliant, than to have disappointed. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, June 23, 1809. 
My Ever Honored Friend : 

Yours of the 15th ult. reached this place a week ago. I was 
then in Norfolk, in the Admiralty Court, and learned, with sorrow, 
by a letter from my wife, your inability to meet us at the Springs. 
In consequence of this, our own resolution of going thither is very 
much shaken ; and I doubt much whether we shall go higher up 
the country than to my wife's sister's, Mrs. Cabell, who lives in 
Buckingham, a county bounded to the west by the Blue Ridge. 
There we shall get the mountain air, avoid a hot journey and a 
good deal of expense, which we would have encountered cheer- 
fully in tlie hope of meeting you, and some portion of your 
family. This inducement removed, the objections to the jaunt 
remain without a counterpoise; and we must submit wnth as good 
a grace as possible to the disappointment, still cherishing the 
hope, that, by some means or other, at some place or other, we 
shall yet meet before we bid adieu to the world. In the mean- 
time, lest it should be otherwise, from your parental anxiety for 
me, I am sure you would be glad to know what is to become of 



CHAP. XVII.] LITERARY DREAMS. 265 

me, and how I am to pass through life. I have looked into this 
subject of my future life with a vision as steady and distinct as I 
can command, and now give you the result. In the course of ten 
years, without some great and signal misfortune, I have reason to 
hope that I shall be worth near upon or quite one hundred thousand 
dollars in cash, besides having an elegant and well-furnished estab- 
lishment in this town. I propose to vest twenty-five thousand dollars 
in the purchase, improvement and stocking of a farm somewhere 
on James River, in as healthy a country as I can find, having also 
the advantage of fertility. There I will have my books, and with 
my family spend three seasons of the year — spring, summer and 
fall. Those months I shall devote to the improvement of my chil- 
dren, the amusement of my wife, and perhaps the endeavor to raise 
by my pen a monument to my name. The winter we will spend 
in Richmond, if Richmond shall present superior attractions to the 
country. The remainder of my cash I will invest in some stable 
and productive fund, to raise portions for my children. In 
these {ew words you have the scheme of my future lil'e. You see 
there is no noisy ambition in it ; there is none, I believe, in my 
composition. It is true I love distinction, but I can only enjoy 
it in tranquillity and innocence. My soul sickens at the idea of 
political intrigue and faction: I would not choose to be the 
innocent victim of it, much less the criminal agent. Observe, I 
do not propose to be useless to society. My ambition will lie in 
opening, raising, refining and improving the understandings of my 
countrymen by means of light and cheap publications. I do not 
think that I am Atlas enough to sustain a ponderous work : while 
a speculation of fifty or a hundred pages on any subject, theolo- 
gical, philosophical, political, moral or literary would afford me 
very great delight, and be executed, at least, with spirit. Thus I 
hope to be employed, if alive, ten years hence, and so, to the day 
of my death, or as long as I can write anything worth the reading. 
Voltaire (voluminous as his works now are, as bound up together,) 
used to publish in this way, detached pamphlets ; and so did many 
others of the most distinguished writers in Europe, — all the essay- 
ists and dramatists, of course, and many of the philosophers. This 
mode of publication is calculated to give wider currency to a 
work. There is nothing terrible in the price, or the massive bulk 
of the volume. The price is so cheap, and the reading so light, 
VOL. 1—23 



266 PROSPECT OF LIFE. [1809. 

as to command a reader in every one who can read at all, and 
thereby to embrace the whole country. May not a man, employed 
in this way, be as useful to his country as by haranguing eloquently 
in the Senate.^ The harangue and the harangue-maker produce a 
transient benefit, and then perish together. The writer, if he have 
merit, speaks to all countries and all ages ; and the benefits which 
he produces flow on forever. To enjoy them both would be, 
indeed, desirable to a man who could feel sufficient delight in the 
applause of his eloquence to counterbalance the pain which the 
cabals, intrigues, calumnies, and lies of the envious and malignant 
would be sure to inflict upon him. This I think I could never do ; 
and I shall, therefore, attempt that kind of fame which alone I can 
find reconcilable with my happiness. 

By perusing these two pages, you may look forward through 
futurity to the end of my life, and, from the point on which you 
now stand, take in my whole prospect. One thing at least your 
adopted son promises you ; that he will transmit to his posterity 
a name of unblemished honor: and he flatters himself that in 
future time, they will look back to him as the founder of a 
race that will have done no discredit to their country. This is 
vanity, but, I hope, not vexation to your spirit : — for with whom 
can I be free if not with you.^* I flatter myself that you have 
that kind of love for me which would make you desirous of seeing 
how I shall conduct myself through life ; but since, in the ordi- 
nary course of things, this cannot be, the next degree of enjoyment 
is to see it by anticipation, and for this purpose it is that I have 
been trying to lead you to the summit of Pisgah, and show you 
my promised land. 

But enough of it. Your letter gives a view of the advanced life 
of parents not the most cheering that could be imagined. But 
then, those children whom you went to Kentucky to live with, 
although widely dispersed, are all in the road of honor, pros- 
perity and happiness. They could not have remained with you, 
always : you should not have desired it. They were to be estab- 
lished in the world; and you have the delightful knowledge that 
they are well-established. What a feast is this reflection to a 
heart like yours ! Contrast it with the idea of their having 
always remained about your house, your daughters old maids, and 
your sons lazy old bachelors. You would have had their company, 



CHAP, xvir.] 



FAMILY CONCERNS. 267 



indeed,— but what sort of company would it have been? And if 
you once admitted the idea that they were to be married and 
settled, I am sure you were not chimerical enough to expect that 
they would all settle around Shiloh, like so many small bubbles 
surrounding a large one. I doubt very much the happiness of a 
neighborhood so constructed, even if it were reasonable to expect 
such a construction. 1 incline to think that distance gives you a 
juster value for each other, and that when you do meet, your 
happiness makes up in intenseness what in wants in frequency ; so 
that upon the whole, the sum of your happiness is pretty much 
the same. 

But, my ever honored friend, any man with your practical 
judgment must have foreseen this result — that your children would 
marry, and that their own parental duties would force them to 
follow their fortune wherever she pointed the way. And how 
happy is your fate compared with that of hundreds, thousands and 
millions of other parents. No child has ever wounded the honor 
of your house. You have no reprobate son to mourn : no daugh- 
ter's ruin to bring down your gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. 
How many are there who have ! When I think of these agoni- 
zing, soul-rending calamities, I almost shudder at the idea of being 
a father. " Yet in Providence I trust." 

I had heard of Ninian's wish for the governorship of the 
Illinois, from himself, and had wTitten to Mr. Madison (whom I 
know very well,) my impression of his (Ninian's) character. I 
know not whether the change of office is for the better or worse ; 
and am sorry to learn that you think it against reason and judg- 
ment. The office, I presume, will impose more labor upon him, 
and be more likely to embroil him in quarrels and trouble. But 
will not these be balanced by the power which he will have of 
providing for his children, and ushering them advantageously into 
life ? 

I am happy to hear that Cyrus has laid siege to the mathe- 
matics. He will, no doubt, soon be tired of it, and when he is so, 
he ouo-ht to turn to Rollin's account of his namesake's siege of 
Babylon, to see w^hat patience, enterprise and heroism can 
achieve ; and, though he may not see at present the benefit which 
is to result from his labors, he will feel it by-and-bye, when the 



268 LETTER TO CARR. [1S09. 

arguments of his adversaries fall before him like the walls of 
Jericho at the sound of the horns. 

By-the-bye, my wife is afraid that you took too gravely her 
little gaycty in pencilling some of the lines of your letter touching 
the federalists. 1 told her that, to my sorrow, you were a fede- 
ralist too; and that your observation could scarcely have been 
intended to cover the whole of a party to which you yourself 
belonged. The act was, as it related to herself, a mere sally of 
sportiveness ; and in this light she begs you to consider it. I have 
some hopes that, in time, I shall have better luck with her than 
Paul had with Felix ; that I shall altogether persuade her to be a 
good republican. This will be the effect, however, of living long 
together, and wearing down, by slow degrees, the little federal 
asperities which her parents gave her ; that is to say, if my own 
political asperities, as being made of softer stuff, do not give way 
first. You know that in rencontres of this sort, men have not 
much to expect beyond the pleasure of being vanquished. 

Here is another long and vapid letter. No wonder this time, for 
I have written under the pressure of about ninety-six degrees of 
heat. My wife and children unite with me in love to you, Mrs. 
E. and our brothers and sisters. Heaven bless you, restore you 
to health, and preserve you to your family. 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt, 

to dabney carr. 

Richmond, December 21, 1808. 
My Dear Friend: 

I have this moment your favor of the 18th inst., for which I 
thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love your letters. 
They are your very self. God bless you. You give me great 
pleasure. 

Yes ! — your brother Peter, the General and myself, had indeed 
})lanned a trip to Washington, this winter, which was to embrace 
you, and into which " my brother the Governor,'''' Cabell, (as old 

S used to say of Patrick Henry,) entered with all his 

soul, as soon as mentioned ; but you know we have Burns' au- 



CHAP. XVII.] 



HABITS OF BUSINESS. 2G9 



thority for saying that " the wisest schemes of mice and men, 
gang aft awry." 

We were at the Springs, and looked at the subject at a very 
jrreat distance, — too arrcat a distance to discern the obstacles that 
might oppose our design. Now that we have come to the starling 
point, 1 find that the trip would break in, materially, on my pro- 
fessional engagements for the winter, and disable me from taking 
the field, in the spring, with the advantage I ought. This is no 
fictitious obstacle. Our courts are, at length, all up, and I have 
set in to do w hat, to my shame, I have never done before, — pre- 
pare, through the winter, for the combats of the succeeding 
year, leaving nothing for future preparation, but future business. 
Thus, our first court is the Chancery : I lay my docket before 
me, take up my first cause, and prepare the notes of my argu- 
ment in that, before I quit it ; so, to the next, and so on through 
that docket, and every other in which I am concerned. Thus I 
come out, in the spring, as Billy Pope says, like a sarpent. Is 
not this an object sufficiently important to justify the declension 
of the jaunt to Washington ? Yet how I should enjoy it ! I have 
no doubt of the truth of your opinion, that these men loom larger 
from their distance. We know those who cope with them, and 
who at least equal, if not surpass them ; and even these are but 
men. 

No, my dear friend; I know you are too manly and dignified to 
flatter any one, much less a friend : and I know icw men, very 
few indeed, (if one,) whose judgments are so little liable to be 
warped, from the truth, by prejudice and partiality. Yet, when 
you speak of its being of any peculiar importance to me to be- 
come known to the great men of the nation, I am lost in the 
attempt to conjecture your meaning. 

The course of politics is neither for my happiness nor fortune. 
I am poor. While I continue so, it is my first duty to think of 
my wife and children, unless my country were placed in an emer- 
gency, from which I, alone, could redeem her : a crisis, the pos- 
sibility of which, it is not very easy to conceive. 

My wafe says that she should feel my safety no where more 

secure than in your hands ; for, let me tell you (aside) that you 

are a rare, a very rare instance, in which there is a perfect 

coincidence in opinion, between her and myself, as to the taste 

VOL. 1—23* 



270 THE OLD REPORTERS. [1809. 



and friendship of my associates, I have heard General M 

make a complaint against his wife, that his greatest favorites were 
seldom /ler's. I suspect tlie reason with both our wives, is pretty 
much the same, — to wit, that some of our greatest favorites are apt, 
occasionally, to tempt us into frolics. My wife has seen, that this 
is not the case witli you •, for you never cross the line of the tem- 
perate zone, and there is no mist of prejudice, therefore, between 
her judgment and your good qualities. At the good qualities of 
several of my other friends, she is obliged to look through the 
smoke of cigars and the vapors of the grape ; a medium so im- 
penetrable to her, that I cannot account for her having ever con- 
ceived a partiality for me, except by the obscurity with which I 
was thus surrounded, and the force of her imagination. But, 
mark me, I am speaking only of past years. For, sir, I have 
made a large collection of old law reporters, with the plates of 
the authors in front, Coke, Grotius, RoUe, Vaughan, &c. I see, 
from the faces of these men, who lived so shortly after Shaks- 
peare, (and, indeed, of old Coke and Dyer who lived with him,) 
that this great poet was painting from nature, in this, as well as 
in every other instance, when he imputed to these men of the 
law, "the eye severe, and beard of formal cut." It was, no 
doubt, owing to their recluse and austere life, and the intensity of 
their studies, that they contracted this severe look. I bar the 
beard ; but, in oilier respects, if the same cause is to produce the 
same effect, look to see me with razor eyes cast a little to one 
side, in all the severity of thought, and muscles fi.xed as marble, 
when next you see me. 

To be sure, I had two and twenty gentlemen, yesterday, eating 
venison and drinking wine with me. But this, sir, was only a pa- 
renthesis; and, I am too well read in Blair, to admit many of them, 
because I think, with him, that nothing is more apt to darken a 
man's understanding, if not to extinguish it altogether. 

rU tell you what, sir, I begin to feel like somebody in this 
world. My son is beginning to read, and my daughter writes her 
name very smartly ; and it gives me, I can tell you, no small con- 
sequence in my own eyes, to be tiic parent of two such children. 
I have a notion of making my daughter a classical scholar. What 
do you say to it .'' She is quick, and has a genius. Her person 
will not be unplcasing, and her mind may be made a beauty. This 



CHAP. XVII.] ACRIMONY OF PARTY POLITICS. 271 

course of education will, indeed, keep her out of the world until 
she is seventeen years old ; but, I think, so much the better, — for I 
would not wish her to be married under twenty, which, if she is 
attractive, would be very apt to be the case, if she enters the 
world, as is usual, at fourteen. What do you say to all this? 
Commune with me, as a friend, upon this. 

I should like our girls, four or five years hence, to be corres- 
ponding in French. Does not your heart spring at this idea .'' If 
not, you are no father to my mind. 

My wife desires to be atfectionately remembered to yours. So 
do I too, and both of us to you, — which is a rhyme unintended. 

Greet your brothers kindly in my name, and all our friends. 

Need I tell you what you so well know, that 
I am, as ever, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

These letters indicate a settled determination, at least for the 
present, to avoid the engagements of public life. Wirt, in com- 
mon with many grave and reflecting men of that time, often fell 
into a desponding tone of remark upon the future prospects of 
the country. The absolute ferocity of party politics at that day, 
alarmed them. Never since that period, — although our later ex- 
perience upon this point is not without abundant examples of an 
extreme of harshness — never have political divisions been attended 
with so widely dilTused and so bitter a spirit of personal rancor 
and denunciation. In the artful exhibitions of talented dem- 
agogues, perhaps, the present generation may be entitled to claim 
a greater skill and a more pervading influence, than that which 
preceded it; but at the time to which we refer, society was 
more distinctly marked and separated by party lines than it 
ever has been since. Considerate men regarded this temper in 
the people with anxiety and doubt as to its ultimate eflect upon 
the institutions of the country, and they felt unliappy forebodings 
of a catastrophe which many believed not to be far distant. The 
public mind has since grown familiar with these tempests, and, 
finding how easily the ship rights itself after a heavy blow, has 
dismissed its apprehensions and learned to look with confidence 



272 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1809. 

and composure upon the supposed dangers which filled the hearts 
of the past generation with dismay. 

In the following letter to Mr. Edwards, we shall find the utter- 
ance of some gloomy misgivings as to the fate of the Union, which 
may be said to express an opinion not confined to the writer. 
The first portion of this letter touches a question of educaticn 
which may be profitably perused by every youthful aspirant after 
professional success. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, December 22, 1809. 

Mv Dear Friend : 

*#♦*** 

I think you are rather hard upon my brother Ninian, when 
you speak of the Quixottic schemes which he has carried to his 
territory. It strikes me that a fellow who has made his way 
through the presidency of a Court of Appeals, to the government 
of a Territory, deserves to have his solidity a little better thought 
of I suspect that the Knight of La Mancha would never have 
achieved such adventures as those. I own that I cannot see what 
he will gain by the exchange, except (what I should suppose he 
has no need of) land : but he has displayed so much soundness of 
judgment that I do not doubt motives exist sufiicient to justify his 
conduct. I am sorry that Cyrus is deprived of McAllister. 
I hear this man every where spoken of as a prodigy of learning 
and mental force; not very well qualified perhaps, for the in- 
struction of children, but highly so for the instruction of young 
men, — and Cyrus is now a young man. McAllister, I am told, is 
distinguished for the clearness and cogency of his style of rea- 
soning. What a treasure would such a man be to a young man of 
genius and enterprise who was destined for the bar ! This 
power of analysis, the power of simplifying a complex subject, 
and shewing all its parts clearly and distinctly, is the forte of 
Chief Justice Marshall, and is the great desideratum of every man 
who aims at eminence in the law. Genius, fancy, and taste may 
fashion the drapery and put it on ; but Reason alone, is the grand 
sculptor that can form the statue itself Hence it is that I have 



CHAP. XVIL] EDUCATION. 273 

been so anxious for Cyrus to cultivate the mathematics — not for 
the sake of being a matliematician, but to give to his mind the 
habit of close and conclusive reasoning. I hope he will still be 
placed in some situation where he may pursue this science. I 
would have him mathematician enough to be able to comprehend 
and repeat, with ease, by calculations of his own. Sir Isaac New- 
ton's mathematical demonstrations of the principles of natural 
philosophy. Locke says, if you would have your son a reasoner, 
let him read Chillingworth: I say, if you would have him a rea- 
soner let him read Locke. I think you will find that the mathe- 
matics and Locke will put a head in his tub ; for, what you cen- 
sure is not, I apprehend, any defect in the faculty of memory, but 
rather the inattention and volatility so natural to his time of life, 
for which there is no better cure than what I am recommending. 

As to my country's calling for my aid, you make me smile ! — yet 
if such an improbable thing should ever come to pass, you will 
find that your lectures on patriotism have not been lost upon me. 
Alas ! poor country ! what is to become of it ? In the wisdom ' 
and virtue of the administration I have the most unbounded confi- 
dence. My apprehensions, therefore, have no reference to them, 
nor to any event very near at hand. And yet, can any man who 
looks upon the state of public virtue in this country, and then 
casts his eyes upon what is doing in Europe, believe that this con- 
federated republic is to last for ever.'' Can he doubt that its 
probable dissolution is less than a century ofi'.-' Think of Burr's 
conspiracy, within thirty-five years of the birth of the republic ; — 
think of the characters implicated with him ; — think of the state of 
political parties and of the presses in this country ; — think of the 
execrable falsehoods, virulent abuse, villanous means by which 
they strive to carry their points. Will not the people get tired 
and heart-sick of this perpetual commotion and agitation, and 
long for a change, even for king Log, so that they may get rid of 
their demagogues, the storks, that destroy their peace and quiet ? 
These are my fears. Heaven grant that they may prove ground- 
less ! It may be for the want of that political intrepidity which is 
essential to a statesman that these fears have found their way into 
my mind — yet I confess they do sometimes fill it with awe and 
dismay. I am sure that the body of the people is virtuous; and 



274 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1S09. 



were they as enliglitened as they are virtuous, I should think the 
republic insured against ruin from within. But they are not en- 
lightened, and therefore are liable to imposition from the more 
knowing, crafty and vicious emissaries of faction ; — and the very 
honesty of the people, by rendering them unsuspicious and credu- 
lous, promotes the cheat. They are told, for instance, that this 
administration is in French pay or under French influence, and 
that this country, although nominally free, is, in effect, a dependant 
and a province of France. That the taxes which they pay to 
support their government, instead of being applied to these pur- 
poses, are remitted to their master in France, to enable him to 
complete the conquest of Europe and hasten the time of his taking 
open possession here. The people wlio live amid the solitude and 
innocence of the country, who read or hear this tale well vamped 
up, and see general items pointed out in the annual accounts of 
expenditure, which are declared to cover these traitorous remit- 
tances — wdiat are they to think — especially when the tale is con- 
nected w^ith a long train of circumstances, partly true and partly 
false, growing out of the actual embarrassments of the country.-' 
Would it be surprising, if, thus worked upon for four years, with 
the vile and infamous slander sanctioned by assertions on the floor 
of Congress, they should precipitate Mr. Madison from the Presi- 
dential seat, and place one of his calumniators in the chair of 
state.? And then when "vice prevails and wicked men bear 
g^vay^" — " ^vhat ills may follow," Heaven only can foretell. 

Yours forever and aye, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

18 10. 

RESUMES THE PURPOSE OF WRITING THE BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY — 
CONSULTS MR. JEFFERSON ON THIS SUBJECT — LETTERS TO CARR.— NEW 

ENGLAND ORATORY THE SENTINEL LET'J'ER TO B. EDWARDS — DEATH 

OF COL. G.UIBLE THE OLD BACHELOR — LETTERS CONCERNING IT. 

In the lives of professional men, there is generally but little in- 
cident of that kind which is adapted to give interest to the narra- 
tive of the biographer. The pursuits of a student, whether in 
the field of professional science or of literature, present little for 
notice beyond the record of his acquirements and opinions. That 
engrossment of the mind, which constitutes the delight and profit 
of a life devoted to study, necessarily withdraws the student from 
an active participation in the affairs of his fellow men, and, to the 
same extent, deprives his career of that various fortune, of which 
the lights and shades communicate so much interest to personal 
history. 

We have seen, in the progress of Mr. Wirt, a stedfast devo- 
tion to his profession, marked by a regular and continued advance- 
ment to eminence — eminence which, it is apparent throughout his 
career, he was fully persuaded was only to be won by unremit- 
ting study. All other pursuits Avere subordinate to the great 
object of his ambition, a well-merited renown in his profession. 
In his estimates of this renown, and of the means by which it was 
to be fairly earned, he was guided by the example of those dis- 
tinguished men who, in the history of the profession, both in an- 
cient and modern times, had illustrated it by the highest accom- 
plishments of general scholarship. The bar of the United States, 
by no means deficient in the highest order of ability, aflbrds but 
few instances of that accurate and full scholastic training, without 
which no man can be said to be entitled to the reputation of an 
accomplished jurist. Looking to the leading members of the pro- 
fession amongst us, we have too much cause to remark that, with 



276 RESUMES THE LIFE OF HENRY. [1810. 

some rare and brilliant exceptions, there is a lamentable want of 
conversancy with those subsidiary studies, which not only grace 
the reputation of an eminent lawyer, but are even indispensable to 
it. We discern in men of the highest professional repute, a lack 
of scholarship, a deficiency in philosophical and historical study, 
and a neglect of literature and science, which contrast most un- 
pleasantly with their acknowledged vigor and capacity of mind. 
This defect may be sometimes traced to the want of the means 
and opportunity, in early life, for elemental study. Some dis- 
tinguished men of the American bar have won their way to fame 
against the impediments of a straitened fortune, and in the priva- 
tion of all the customary aids of study. In respect to these, it 
may be said that their want of accomplishment bears honorable 
testimony to the labors of their progress, and rather signalizes 
what they have achieved, than subjects them to reproof for what 
they have left unattained. The great majority of the most prom- 
inent members of the profession, however, have not this excuse. 
They are men, for the most part, of liberal education, trained in 
the college, with all the means and appliances at hand for the 
highest and most various cultivation. That they have not availed 
themselves of these means, we may attribute, in a great degree, 
to the fact, that the community at large do not appreciate these ac- 
quirements sufficiently to allow them much weight in the forma- 
tion of the popular opinion of professional excellence ; that the 
student is not stimulated to these additional labors by any public 
judgment of their worth, and that he need not, iherel'ore, burden 
himself, in his preparation for his arduous race, with any addi- 
tional weight of study. His dream is of popularity, rather than 
of that fame which is to live beyond his own day. He covets the 
applause visibly bestowed in the listening forum, or more sub- 
stantially manifested in the golden return, rather than that in- 
visible, remote and impartial renown, which settles, late and long, 
upon the works and the memory of the ripe and polished scholar. 
Something is due also to other causes : amongst these, that 
rapid and precocious advance to large practice at the bar, of 
which we have so many examples. This early success, bringing 
with it profit and popular applause, is often the source of a double 
mischief; first, by satisfying the ambition of the aspirant; and, 
second, by persuading him that nothing is to be gained, in the 



CHAP. XVIir.] CHARACTER OF HIS STUDIES. 277 

enlargement of his studies, to compensate him for the time it must 
subtract from his business. We may find another reason, in the 
extraordinary predominance of that talent for public speaking, 
which is so remarkably characteristic of our people. The ad- 
miration of the masses for this talent ; the ready plaudit with 
which they reward that specious, fluent, superficial, glittering elo- 
quence, with which they are most familiar, seem to have engen- 
dered the opinion, that even the depths of juridical science may 
be fathomed by this plummet of the gift of speech, and the high- 
est honors of professional distinction, be won by the wordy 
triumphs of the forum. 

Wirt's aim was to build up his reputation upon a more solid 
base. To this end, he read and thought much, in those de- 
partments of study, which not only liberalize the mind by broad 
and comprehensive views of human knowledge, but also supply 
it with the stores of illustration, analogy and comparison; and, 
in equal degree, strengthen its power of discrimination and 
losfical deduction. To this end, also, he habituated himself to 
the use of his pen, and almost incorporated the practice of wri- 
ting into a system of self-improvement, as a point of daily dis- 
cipline. 

In accordance with this plan of study, he had ever some literary 
project in hand, to which he gave a portion of his time. It was 
not, however, always that, in the pressure of his forensic engage- 
ments, he could gratify this purpose, without too large a sacrifice 
of immediate personal interest ; but we remark in his letters, how 
much this literary scheme engrossed his thoughts, and beguiled 
the severer occupations of his profession. 

The purpose of writing a biography of Patrick Henry, which, 
as we have heretofore remarked, had been contemplated, in con- 
nection with a work embracing a number of other distinguished 
men of Virginia, was now resumed. In reference to this design, 
Wirt wrote the following letter to Mr. Jefferson : 



VOL. 1—24 



278 LETTER TO MR. JEFFERSON. [1810. 



TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, January 18, 1810. 
Dear Sir : 

About four years ago, you were so good as to state that if the 
Life of Henry was not destined to conne out very speedily, you 
would endeavor to recollect what might be of service to it ; and 
that, having run your course with him for more than twenty years, 
and witnessed the part he bore in every great question, you would 
perhaps be able to recal some interesting anecdotes. 

I do not refer to your letter as constituting a promise, or giving 
me any manner of claim on you. I do not regard it in that light ; 
and have merely reminded you of it as an apology for the renewal 
of my request. In truth, so great is the inconsistency of the 
statements which I have received of his life and character, and so 
recent and warm the prejudices of his friends and his adversaries, 
that I had almost brought my mind to lay aside the project as one 
too ticklish for faithful execution at the present time. But every 
day, and especially every meeting of the Legislature, convince 
me that the times require a little discipline, which cannot be 
rendered so interesting in a didactic form, as if interwoven with 
the biography of a celebrated man : and although ! know very 
many much better qualified to give this discipline than myself, I 
hear of no one who is disposed to do it. It is for this reason, 
only, that / am so disposed. 

Mr. Henry seems to me a good text for a discourse on rhetoric, 
patriotism and morals. The work might be made useful to young 
men who are just coming forward into life : this is the highest 
point of my expectation ; nor do 1 deem the object a trifling one, 
since on these young men the care and safety of the republic must 
soon devolve. 

As for the prejudices for and against him, I shall endeavor to 
treat the subject with so much candor, as not justly to give offence 
to any one. I think this may be avoided without a sacritice of 
truth. Of this, and consequently of the expediency of publishing 
at this time, I shall be better able to judge when the work is 
fuiished; which, I hope, it will be this summer, unless the ill 
liealtli of my family should again send me a travelling. 



CHAP, XVIII.] THE BIOGRAPHY OF IIRNRY. 279 

I should feci myself very much indebted to you, if, during the 
leisure which 1 hope you are now enjoying, you could make it 
matter of amusement to yourself (I would not wish il otherwise,) 
to throw together, for my use, such incidents touching Mr. Henry 
as may occur to you. 

I never heard nor saw Mr. Henry, and am, therefore, anxious 
to have a distinct view of the peculiarities of his character as a 
man, a politician, and an orator ; and particularly of the grounds 
and points of his excellence in the latter aspect. 

It would very much animate and enrich the biography to add to 
it a striking portrait of the characters of the eminent men with 
whom lie acted. I am the more especially anxious for a portrait 
of Richard H. Lee, because I understand that he was the great 
rival of Mr. Henry in eloquence. I have heard the late Governor 
Page say that he was the superior. 

Will this not be adding too much to the trouble which I am 
already seeking to give you .'' But I beg you to feel no difficulty 
in disposing of the whole request as it may suit your convenience. 

If, instead of being an amusement, you think it would be 

troublesome to you, I should be much more sensibly obliged to 

you to decline it altogether than to encounter the trouble : since, 

with every wish for the peace and enjoyment of your future life, 

I am, dear sir. 

Your obedient servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The expectation of completing this Life of Patrick Henry in the 
course of the year in which this letter was written was not fulfilled. 
The work referred to, was not given to the public until several 
years afterwards. 

AVirt had projected a visit with Dabney Carr and some other 
friends, to Washington, during the session of Congress, " to see 
the lions" there, and amuse themselves by an intercourse with the 
magnates of the nation. He was, however, obliged to forego this 
frolic, — as it was meant to be, — and to remain at home, with an 
eye to his business, which was now rapidly increasing, very much 
to the benefit of his purse, though not in the same degree to thj 
promotion of his comfort. In reference to this trip he writes the 
following letter : 



280 LETTER TO CARR. [1810. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, January 19, 1810. 

Yours of the 9th, my dear friend, reached me last night. It is 
undouhtedly an eloquent letter, for it put me exactly in the state 
of the twelve signs of the zodiac that surround the pedestal of the 
sleeping Venus, at Monticello ; it was a smile and a tear, from 
beginning to end ; which is better proof of the merit of the letter 
than if it fitted Aristotle's square in every part. 

It is in vain to sigh about it ; go I cannot. In ten days more, 
begins our Court of Chancery ; and then I have no rest (not for a 
day,) till August. My scheme of winter's preparation has been 
a good deal unhinged by a spell of sickness, from which I am just 
recovering ; but I shall not suffer the vacation to pass entirely 
without profit. 

This, I suppose, will find you in Washington. I wish you may 
meet with all the enjoyment you anticipated. John Randolph has 
not gone on ; and to hear him speak was the primum viobile of 
Peter's project and mine. I am very anxious to hear John Ran- 
dolph : they tell me that he is an orator, and I am curious to hear 
one ; for I never yet heard a man who answered the idea I have 
formed of an orator. 

He has ever been ambitious, and I do not doubt that from the 
time he was seventeen years old, he has been training himself, 
most assiduously, for public speaking. He has formed himself, I 
lancy, on the model of Chatham ; but the vigor of Chatham's 
mind, and that god-like fire which breathed from him, were not to 
be imitated. 

By-the-bye, I think this business of imitation always a badge of 
inferiority of genius ; most frequently an injudicious business, too — 
since the imitation has generally little other eiTect than to remind 
the hearer or reader of the superiority of the original. 

* * * * * * 

God bless you forever and ever, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Our New England friends will smile at the account given 
of their oratory, in the following extract from another letter to 



CHAP. XVIII.] OPINION OF NEW ENGLAND ORATORY. 281 

Carr, written, I have reason to suppose, — for it is without date, — 
soon after the last, and whilst Carr was in Washington. I need 
not say that the estimate here made of New England eloquence 
and character, was rather an echo of the absurd prejudices then 
current in the South, tlian any deliberate opinion of Wirt's own. 
We shall find hereafter, that no man was either more able or more 
willing to do full justice to the many virtues of our Northern 
brethren than he. In the mean time, this sketch of them may be 
noticed to show to what a ditlcrent point of the compass the 
opinion of forty years ago turned, upon the topic of this letter, 
from what it does now. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

"•I fear you will find but little amusement in the formal cant of 
the New Englanders. I never heard one of them ; but I suspect 
that Callender has, at least, colored the picture of the national 
manner high enough when, in drawing Dexter he says, ' Mr. Dex- 
ter has a great deal of that kind of eloquence which struts around 
the heart without ever entering it.' 

"The impression which I have received of them is, that they 
are trained, like the disputants in the old schools of logic, to be 
equally ready for every subject : that they can speak on any one 
with equal volubility ; — but that there is no more variation of feel- 
ing, nor consequently of expression in them, than in the brazen 
mask which covered the face of the actor in Rome. That they 
are a cold, and at the same time, cunning people, who envy the 
genius and generosity of a southern climate, of which they have but 
little conception ; that they are clannish ; that they wear leather 
breeches, and smell of onions and train oil ; that they have a nasal 
twang, and a provincial whine which give them, to a stranger, 
the air of artless simplicity, while, at the same time, they are art- 
ful enough to cheat the devil. How much of this creed is true.'' " 



With all Wirt's disinclination to embarrass himself with the 
duties of public station, he was ever ready to enter the field of 
political contest in defence of his friends or the party to which 
VOL. 1—24* 



282 THE SENTINEL. [ISIO- 



he was attaclied. To both of these, he had, more than once, 
rendered most effective service, and this was acknowledged by 
the public in the popular approbation which he heard expressed 
from all quarters, and especially from the distinguished men in 
whose behalf he had labored. He had, as we have seen, been 
one of the first to reprove that attempt to produce a schism in the 
republican party which, in the then recent presidential contest, 
had divided the friends of Mr. Madison and Mr. Monroe ; and the 
letters of "One of the People," had a very extensive circulation 
through the state. The authorship of those letters, although not 
confessed to the world, was every where well known, and gave to 
the writer a conspicuous position in his party. 

An occasion was presented, during this summer, to bring him 
once more before the public. Mr. Madison's administration was 
assailed with great asperity. Some of the protestors of 1808 
were in open war against it, and political hate had lost none of its 
harshness, nor its industry in the tactics of assault. To breast 
this opposing force of querulous denunciation of Mr. Madison and 
his friends, Wirt published a few essays with the title of " The 
Sentinel." These papers were written in a different style from 
his former political compositions ; were more free of that ambi- 
tious declamation which may be noticed in some portions of the 
letters of One of the People. His object in this change of style 
was to mislead the public as to the author; but the public, accus- 
tomed to the flavor of his pen, were not deceived by the assumed 
disguise, and he became as well known for these essays as for the 
former. "I hope I shall be prudent some time or other," he says 
in a letter to Carr, " though I sometimes doubt whether my 
scribbling so much in the papers is an evidence of it. I suppose 
1 am to subject myself to some personal reflections in the press 
for the portrait of Randolph. I should have no objection to 
being treated as candidly as he has been ; but when they lay hold 
of me they maul me in a different style. But as Bullock's country- 
man said, about being called ' Billy ' before the Governor, ' I did n't 
care for that ! ' " 

We have, in the letters of Wirt, occasional reflections upon his 
own career, which are particularly adapted to the instruction of 
the young. He seems to have been moved, at many periods of 
bis life, to record in his letters the results of his experience in the 



CHAP. XVIII.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 283 



difficulties he had encountered, with some conviction that he owed 
it to the rising generation to warn and guard them against the 
dangers which tliat experience had taught him were so greatly to 
be dreaded. Tiiese frequent passages in his letters, as well as the 
general scope and aim of his literary compositions, may be said to 
present him somewhat conspicuously in the character of the Friend 
and Instructor of youth, a title which I am happy to find has been 
more than once recognized by the young men of the United 
States, in the formation of societies bearing his name, and whose 
pursuits are directed to the course prescribed by his inculcations. 
A few extracts from a letter to Mr. Edwards, at the period to 
which our narrative has arrived, will be read as an illustration of 
these remarks. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, May 8, 1810. 

My Dear and Revered Friend : 

******* 

I have, indeed, great cause of gratitude to Heaven. I will not 
say that Providence has led me, but that, in spite of the reluctant 
and rebellious propensities of my nature, it has dragged me from 
obscurity and vice, to respectability and earthly happiness. 

In reviewing the short course of my life, I can see where I 
made plunges from which it seems clearly to me that nothing less 
than a divine hand could ever have raised me ; but, I have been 
raised, and I trust that my feet are now upon a rock. Yet, can 
I never cease to deplore the years of my youth, that I have mur- 
dered in idleness and folly. I can only fancy, with a sigh of un- 
willing regret, the figure which I might have made, had 1 devoted 
to study those hours, which I gave up to giddy dissipation, and 
which, now, cannot be recalled. I have read enough to show me, 
dimly and at a distance, the great outline of that scheme of literary 
conquest, which it was once in my power to fill up in detail. I 
have got to the foot of the mountain, and see the road which 
passes over its summit, and leads to the promised land ; but, it is 
too late in life for me. I must be content to lay my bones on the 
hither side, and point out the path to my son. Do not charge 
these sentiments either to a weak and spiritless despondency, 



284 REVIEW OF THE PAST. [ISIO. 

or to sluggish indolence. I know that a good deal may yet be 
done, and I mean, as far as I can, that it shall be done ; yet, com- 
paratively, it will be but a drop in the bucket. Seven and thirty 
is rather too late for a man to begin his education; more espe- 
cially when he is hampered by the duties of a profession, and, 
in this age of the world, when every science covers so much 
ground by itself. What a spur should this reflection be to young 
men! Yet there is scarcely one in ten thousand of them, who 
will understand or believe it, until, as in my case, it comes home 
to the heart, when it is too late. I now think that I know all 
the flaws and weak places of my mind. I know which of the 
muscles want tone and vigor, and which are braced beyond 
the point of health. I also think I know what course of early 
training would have brought them all to perform their proper 
functions in harmonious concert. But now the character of my 
mind is fixed ; and as to any beneficial change, one might as well 
call upon a tailor, who has sat upon his shop-board until the 
calves of his legs are shrivelled, to carry the burthens of a porter, 
or upon a man, whose hand is violently shaken with the palsy, to 
split hairs with a razor. Such as it is, it will probably remain, 
with a little accession, perliaps, of knowledge. You will do me 
injustice if you infer from what I have said, that I am sighing 
with regret, at those distant heights of political honors which lie 
beyond my reach. I do not know whether to consider it as a 
vice or virtue of my nature, but so far am I from sighing for po- 
litical honors, that I pant only for seclusion and tranquility, in 
which I may enjoy the sweets of domestic and social love, raise 
my faculties, by assiduous cultivation, to their highest attainable 
point, and prepare for that state of future existence to which I 
know that I am hastening. Nor should I propose to myself, in 
such solitude, to forget what I owe to my country : on the con- 
trary, I think I could be much more solidly useful, in that situa- 
tion, than in one more public and active. So strongly are my 
hopes and wishes fixed on this life of sequestration and peace, that 
if you ever hear of my having entered on a political course, you 
may rely upon it that it is a painful and heart-rending sacrifice to 
a sense of public duty. I hope, and trust that such an emergency 
is scarcely possible. I am sure that it is very improbable ; be- 
cause, 1 believe, there will always be those who are much better 



CHAP. XVIII.] COMMON DEFECTS OF EDUCATION. 285 



qualified for public offices, and certainly far more anxious for 
them than I am. At the same time, I think our country is, at ^ 
present, very badly supplied with materials for future legislation 
and government. I cast my eyes over the continent, in vain, in 
quest of successors to our present patriots. There seems to me 
a most miserable and alarming dearth of talents and acquirements 
among the young men of the U. S. I have sometimes sat down 
and endeavored to fill the various offices in the government with 
characters drawn from those who are made known to us, either 
personally, or by fame. But so far am I from finding, among 
them, a man fit for a president, that I cannot even find persons 
fit for the heads of departments. What has become of the ta- 
lents of the country.^ Are they utterly extinct.? Or do they 
merely slumber; and does it require another great convulsion, 
like our revolutionary war, to rouse their dormant energies .? I, 
myself, think that it proceeds, in a very great degree, if not alto- 
gether, from defective education. Our teachers, themselves, either 
want learning, or they want the address necessary to excite, into 
vigorous action, the powers of the mind. Young men are every 
where turned loose, in the various professions, with minds half 
awake, and their surface merely a little disturbed with science. 
This is not the way great men have been made, either in Eu- 
rope or America. As long as this system is pursued, we shall 
never have any thing but political quacks. 

******* 
You will no doubt have seen, in the public papers, the loss we 
have suffered in the premature death of my wife's father. Col. 
Robert Gamble. In the full enjoyment of health and strength, of 
uncommon mental and corporeal vigor, in the active and pros- 
perous pursuit of his business, his children all established, sur- 
rounded by his grand-children and an extensive circle of sincere 
and fervent friends, and with the fairest prospects of earthly hap- 
piness opening around him on every hand, he was suddenly killed, 
on the morning of the 12th instant, by a fall from his horse. He 
was a faithful soldier of the revolution, a sincere and zealous 
christian, one of the best of fathers, and honestest of men. 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 



286 DEATH OF COL. GAMBLE. [1810. 



The last portion of this letter refers to an event which de- 
prived the society of Richmond of one of its best members. 
Colonel Gamble had served with credit, during the revolutionary 
war, and engaging in commerce, soon after its termination, had 
amassed, as we have heretofore had occasion to remark, a con- 
siderable fortune in Richmond, where he lived honored and be- 
loved by all who knew him, illustrating the benevolence of his 
character by many acts of kindness and charity to those around 
him.* 

The succeeding letters will show that the occupations of the 
courts, to which some amusing reference is made, had not blunted 
the edge of the writer's literary appetite, nor entirely deprived 
him of the leisure necessary for its indulgence. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 9, 1810, 
My Dear Friend : 

I received, in regular course of mail, your favor of the 27th 
ultimo. Brigg's is really a hard case ; and I will endeavor, al- 
though it will be irregular, to introduce the Court of Appeals to 
a more intimate knowledge of it than the records will furnish. 

* He was born in the neighborhood of Staunton, where his father, an emigrant 
from Scotland, possessed a good landed estate. At the breaking out of the war, he 
entered the service as a subaltern officer, having just married a Miss Grattan, who 
had, at an early age, come with her parents from Ireland, being remotely connected 
with the family of the distinguished leader of the Irish Parliament of the same 
name. Col. Gamble served until the peace, and then established himself as a mer- 
chant in Staunton, whence he removed to Richmond. Here he lived in the enjoy- 
ment of an elegant hospitality, and in intimate association with that circle which 
was made up of Chief Justice Marshall and his contemporaries. He was in the 
habit of riding every morning to his counting room, from his residence on Gamble's 
Hill, as it is yet called in Richmond. He thus met his death. April 12th, 1810, he 
was riding at a leisure pace down one of the streets, near the river, reading a news- 
paper, and giving but little attention to his horse. It happened that some buffalo 
skins were thrown from the upper story of a warehouse, as he was passing it ; his 
horse took fright, started and threw him, which produced concussion of the brain, 
and terminated his life in a few hours. He was then in his fifty-sixth year. He 
left behind him two sons, who now are both living in Florida, gentlemen deservedly 
esteemed for their personal worth, and two daughters, with whose history the reader 
I3 already partially acquainted. 



CHAP. XVIII.] LETTER TO CARR. 287 

*♦♦*## 

My ink was rather too thick to write with pleasure, so I have 
thinned it, and mended my pen; — and now, sir, iiere's at you. 

Wliy yes, sir, as you say, it is a pleasant thing to lead the life 
of a county court lawyer; but yet (as one of Congreve's wittol 
squires said, when his guardian bully suffered himself to be kicked, 
and called it pleasant) " it is a pleasure I would as soon be with- 
out." Yet I doubt not that your sum of happiness is as great, if 
not greater, than if you were a " general court lawyer," as the 
phrase used to be. 

Those same returns that you speak of — My God ! Does not a 
man, at such times, live as much in a minute as, in ordinary times, 
he does in an hour or a day .'' These are the breezes of which 
poets and orators sing and say, that they shake the atmosphere of 
life, and keep it from stagnation and pestilence. I know that yoiir 
life would be in no danger of stagnation or pestilence, even if 
you were to live forever at home : yet, I imagine that there is no 
man, however happy in the circle of his family, who does not 
find himself made more conscious of that happiness, and his feel- 
ings of enjoyment quickened by these occasional separations. 
This is the way in which I reconcile myself to them ; since, al- 
though not a county court lawyer, at this present, I am doomed to 
these separations as well as you. 

As to the labor and fatigue which you undergo, — look at the 
health which you derive from it, and the consequent clearness of 
brain, and capacity for happiness. Besides, mark the majestic 
obesity which you exhibit, in spite of all your exercise, and con- 
sider " what a thing you would be if you were bloated," as Fal- 
statf says, — by inactivity. 

When I think of the mountain scenery, the fine air, the society 
of nature, in Albemarle, I am convinced that nothing less than my 
being doomed, by my nativity, to the life of a wandering Arab, 
would have rolled me through Richmond, to Williamsburg, to 
Norfolk, and back here again. Even now, I can scarcely per- 
suade myself that I am stationary ; and, should not be at all sur- 
prised, ten or fifteen years hence, (if I live so long,) to find myself 
in some valley, among the mountains of Pennsylvania. 

But, to return to tlie life of a county court lawyer. (" Sir," 
say you, — " You ought not to wish to return to it." — I hate a pun: 



288 LITERARY ASPIRATIONS. [ISIO. 



So, Mons !) What I object to it for, is the very thin^ I ought 
most to covet, the corporeal labor to which it subjects one, (not 
meaning of a pun, of course, — (Curse these interlineations, how 
they puzzle one!)— but the life of a county court lawyer ;) for, as 
to the fatigue of the mind, I do suppose that we are much more 
oppressed than you are. Our courts, for example, have now 
begun, and we have no more intermission from labor, not even 
during the Sabbath, until about Christmas. The iew last days of 
December and the month of January, belong to us; and then, 
from the first of February to the first of July, we are slaves 
again. Even the intervals between these sessions, if we were 
wise, ought to be devoted to preparation for the ensuing cam- 
paign,— so that it is literally by playing the truant, that we have a 
day of rest from our labors. 

Now, sir, think of this, and remember that it is on me you 
would pack the labors of " the Sylph," because you are too busy. 

I much fear the Sylph is doomed never to see the light. Pro- 
fessional labors thicken around me this fall, and it will require the 
most intense application, on my part, to keep pace, even with 
the progress of my little name. This prospect does not cheer 
me. 1 feel as if the waves were closing over my head, and cut- 
ting me off from all that delights me. To be buried in law for 
eight or ten years, without the power of opening a book of taste 
for a single day ! " O horrible ! horrible ! most horrible !" O 
for that wealth that would enable me to wander at large through 
the fields of general literature, as whim or feeling might direct, 
for days, and weeks, and months together, and thus to raise, en- 
lighten and refine my mind and heart, until I became a fit inhabi- 
tant for those brighter fields of light that lie above us ! 

Do you think that a fellow, after xcrangling and crangling, (as 
Daniel Call says,) for twenty or thirty years on this earth, is fit to 
go to Heaven ? Don't you think he would be perpetually dis- 
turbing the inhabitants by putting cases of law, and that he would 
be miserable for the want of a dispute ? If so, well may it be 
said, " Wo unto you, ye lawyers !"— The which " wo," I think it 
mio-ht be wise in us to interpret, quadrupedantically, and cease 
from our wicked labors. But what can we do .? "Aye !— there's 
the rub that makes calamity of so long life ; that makes us rather 
bear the ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of." 



CHAP. XVIII. 1 ANCIENT AND MODERN ORATORY. 289 

But more of this anon. For the present, with love to Mrs. C. 
and your children, not forgetting Frank, adieu. I am alone, — my 
wife is gone back to CabelPs, — but, nevertheless, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

to dabney c arr. 

Richmond, December 17, 1810. 
Mv Dear Friend : 

A bill introduced by Blackburn to increase the number of 
Judges in the Court of Appeals, has been made the order of 
this day. 

This measure, I apprehend, is too important to be disposed of 
immediately ; but I consider it as the harbinger of all the great 
measures of the session, and the signal for debate. I would 
recommend it to you, therefore, to be here in the course of this 
week, or at all events, by Sunday. 

1 am told that, in point of abilities, we have a better House 
now than we have had for several years. Those who make it so 
must, however, be all young men, except Col. Monroe ; and of 
the young men our system of education is too defective to expect 
much. How little does it resemble a Roman senate ! 

Can you conceive any pleasure superior to the enjoyment of 
hearing a debate, on a great public measure, conducted by such 
men as Cicero, Cato, Caesar, and their compeers; — that pleasure 
which Sallust so often tasted, and of which he has left us such 
brilliant specimens .'' What stores of knowledge had those men, 
what funds of argument, illustration and ornament, what powers 
of persuasion, what force of reason, what striking and impressive 
action, what articulate and melodious elocution ! — yet each speaker 
marked with a character of his own, which distinguished him from 
all the world, — the sportive amenity of Cicero, the god-like dig- 
nity of Cato. 

How interesting must it have been, to listen to Julius Ceesar, 
and watch the sly operations of that ambition which he must have 
curbed with so much difficulty ! I think it is Plutarch who tells 
us that Cicero said of Cajsar, " that when he saw him adjusting 
his locks with so much care, he could not help regarding him 
VOL. 1 — 25 



290 LETTERS TO CARR. [ISIO. 

with some degree of contempt, as a fop and a Irifler ; but when 
he heard him speak, he trembled for his country ! " or something 
to tliis effect. 

But, without going back to Rome, how little does any House 
tliat we have had for some years past resemble the House in 
which Jefferson, Pendleton, Henry, Richard H. Lee, Wythe, 
Bland and others were members ; or the Convention which ratified 
the Constitution ; or the Assembly of '99-1800, in which Madison, 
Giles, John Taylor of Caroline, Brent, Swann, Tazewell and 
Taylor of Norfolk were members ! 

Yet, without any extraordinary prejudice in favor of antiquity, 
I appieliend that we have never yet, by any of our Houses, 
matched a Roman senate, as a lohole. The system of education 
at Rome, seems to have been such a one as to turn out every young 
man accomplished, at all points, for the service of his country. 
And when a young man was emulous of any thing extraordi- 
nary, he visited and received the instructions of every foreign 
school distinguished for science or eloquence, — as we see in the 
example of Cicero, — and thus extracted and mingled the sweets of 
every exotic and indigenous flower. 

When will our young men ever take these pains ? For 1 per- 
suade myself tliat notliing is necessary but a general exertion, 
" a heave together," aided by a judicious course of education, 
to make the people of this country equal to any in the world, 
ancient or modern. 

In the {t\Y instances of eminent exertion which have occurred, 
a weight of mind has been attained which has rarely, if ever, been 
surpassed ; that is to say, the exertion has produced the effect 
which was aimed at — knowledge, strength, discrimination ; but 
this exertion has never been pointed with such success at the art 
of public debating, as to bring us near old Rome. 

I see, in the last number of Rees' Cyclopaedia, a remark 
extracted from Thilwairs Lectures on Elocution, which seems to 
me very just : he says that our inferiority to the ancient orators 
consists not in the substance of what we say, but in the manner of 
it — that is, in elocution, which includes every thing that relates to 
the delivery, more particularly the articulation and intonations of 
the voice, together with the time, as musicians call it. 



CHAP, xvrrr.] ancient and modern oratory. 291 



To this purpose, what engines were tlie public schools of elo- 
quence anions,^ the Romans, and still more, perhaps, the extempora- 
neous lectures of the travelling philosophers from Greece ! What 
whetstones to the emulation of young men, the splendid examples 
of rhetoric which tiiose philosophers were every day exhibiting, 
and the raptures of applause with which they w^ere heard ! Com- 
pared with such incentives as these, how dull and low is every 
thing we see in this country !— a jig upon the banjo of an ash- 
covered negro, compared with an anthem on Handel's organ ! 

I am still of the opinion that an extemporaneous lecturer, well 
fitted for the office, might perfoim ^vonders for the young men of 
this country. What might not Ogilvie have done, if his entliu- 
siasm had been backed by the genius and mellifluous eloquence 
of Plato ! 

It is true that experimental philosophy and revelation have 
taken away the themes of the Roman and Grecian philosophers, 
in a very great degree ; but themes enough still remain in physics, 
ethics, politics, &c. Think of such a man as Parson Waddell, 
the master of a school of eloquence ! 

Here I am betrayed into an essay, when I only sat down to an- 
nounce to you that I thought it was time for you to come hither. 
It is well enough, however, to keep down your expectations, and 
prevent such another disappointment as you experienced last 
winter at Washington. 

Some years ago, Ritchie drew a character of Tazewell, in 
which he accounted for the deficiency of the State Legislature 
by saying that all our talents had gone into Congress. What 
Avould he be able to tell an observer, now, who should travel 
with him from Richmond to Washington, so as to see both 
Houses ? But enough of this. 

We shall look for you about Friday, and thenceforward till 
we see you. 

I expect Peachy also; and Billy Pope is to be in town at the 
same time. He is full of anticipation. 

Remember us aff"ectionately to Mrs. C. ; and give my love to 

your brothers. 

Wm. Wirt. 



292 LETTERS TO CARR. 



[1810. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, December 24, 1810. 
Mt Dear Friend: 

Your two favors of the ISlh and 20th were brought me 3'ester- 
day morning-, while at breakfast. And although the intelligence 
that we were not to see you until the 10th January w'as a draw- 
back, to which I am not yet reconciled, I read both your letters, 
but especially the last, with unusual pleasure. 

****** 
I sliall immediately announce your day, both to Pope and 
Peachv. 

The author of the essays on the United States Bank, is a very 
intimate friend of mine, and one who is very strongly disposed, 
and anxious to be equally intimate with you. It is Richard E. 
Parker, the Judge's grandson, a captain of horse in our legion, — 
infandwn renovare dolorem ! — and a nephew of the Colonel Parker 
who fell at Charleston. 

#•**** 
He is a fine fellow, although there is nothing in him very 
striking to a sfranger. As a member of the House, he was not 
popular. He spoke his mind, on all occasions, without reserve, 
and was constantly treading on somebody's corns. He wanted 
experience to give him the allowable policy and insinuation of 
a popular speaker. But I think his pen promises to be a very fine 
one. He is studious, emulous, and is already, I think, a versatile 
and graceful writer. 

****** 
He was with me the other evening, and I imparted to him our 
project of a series of moral and literary essays, with which he 
was delighted, and agreed to contribute, provided I would sit at 
the helm, to preserve the unity of course and character, and ex- 
punge, alter or reject, any thing lie should send which did not 
meet my approbation ; a circumstance which I mention as mark- 
ing his modesty and discretion, and as giving you my pledge, 
(since you do not so well know him,) tliat your co-responsibility 
with me, will not be increased by such an auxiliary. 

I mentioned to him, that you and Frank would contribute, and 
he is very anxious to know you both. I will endeavor to have 



CHAP. XVIII.] PROJECT OF THE OLD BACHELOR. 293 

him in Richmond wlien you come down ; for, at present, he has 
gone home to Westmoreland, enraptured with the scheme, and 
has promised that I shall soon hear from him. 

Before he went, we agreed, for the reasons which I believe I 
suggested to you, — the too palpable fiction, want of community of 
character and interests, and unmcinageabiUty^ — that the Sylph 
would not do. So I have hit upon another, the Old Bachelor, of 
which you will see two numbers, by the same mail which carries 
this. 

I like the plan myself, much. It gives scope for all sorts of 
composition ; and I think, the adopted children of the Old Bache- 
lor, will enable us to interweave something of a dramatic interest 
with the work. 

I shall assign the young doctor to Frank, and the young lawyer 
to Parker. You and I will manage the Old Bachelor and the 
Niece. How do you like it, and the beginning numbers.'' 

I wish you to bring down the Sylph with you, and Frank's 
essay upon Doctor Rush's opinion about the inferiority of women, 
in the form of a letter, addressed to his Uncle the Old Bachelor, 
the key-note of which he will see in the third number. It need not 
have the air of being intended for publication, but of being a letter 
written to his uncle in the ordinary course of correspondence. 

Your story of Polemo and Xenocrates, affected me almost to 
tears ; but they were tears of pleasure. You tell it exquisitely, 
and beat both Boyle and Valerius Maximus, the original reporter 
of the story, out of sight. I shall have it in the Old Bachelor. 
It will make a brilliant catastrophe to an essay on temperance. 

I am now going to take a liberty which nothing but our old and 
fraternal friendship could justify. Y'ou have powers, of which 
you do not seem conscious; powers which require but a little ex- 
ertion, on your part, to unfold them to the public eye, in the van of 
the distinguished men on the continent. If you would devote 
your hours of rest from your profession, to science and literature 
on a bold scale, and practice your pen in composition, you would 
soon burst from the shell of your district, and take the station 
for which nature designed you. 

Neither Voltaire nor Marmontel ever told a story better than 
your Polemo. I mention them, because I think your pen bears a 
striking resemblance to their ease, volubility, and sprightliness. 
VOL. 1—25* 



294 THE OLD BACHELOR. [1810. 

O ! how would it greet my soul, to lay hold of your arm, and 
travel with you up the steep, to that same Temple with the female 
trumpeter on its summit, with wings expanded and on the last 
tip-toe of flight, to speed her news. 

You know me too well, to believe these remarks complimen- 
tary, or as fishing for compliments to myself. They are from 
my inmost soul, and proceed from an earnest desire to have you 
all that nature has formed you capable of being. I think you 
owe it, too, to the memory of the man whose name you bear; 
and who, if he had lived to the ordinary stage of life, would 
not have consented to expire in a corner, in obscurity, and leave 
no trace of that name on the rolls of Fame. 

When I first knew you, about fourteen or fifteen years ago, you 
felt as you ought to do on tiiis subject. But I fear Louisa and 
Fluvanna, have almost extinguished the generous spark. Let 
us see if we cannot rekindle it in the Old Bachelor. I am, my- 
self, determined, at least, to spare no exertion for the improve- 
ments of the mind, which I have too long wanted. It is late, 
indeed, to begin ; but both Scaliger and Hobbes studied mathe- 
matics after forty. That is some consolation. O ! for such a for- 
tune as would give me all my time to spend as I please ! But, 
since this is vain, let us do the best we can, and let us endeavor to 
stimulate our countrymen to surpass us. 

The man who could rouse this nation from the indolence and 
lethargy of peace, and spur them on to put forth all their powers, 
would deserve a place in the bulletin of to-morrow. 

Tell me that you do not take these personalities amiss, and tell 
me that you take me at my word. 

Our love to you all. 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

1811. 

THE OLD BACHELOR —CONTRIBUTORS TO IT— CHARACTER OF THE WORK — 
AMUSING CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN WIRT AND CARR IN REFERENCE TO 
IT.— CARR'S PROMOTION TO THE BENCH THE POST OF ATTORNEY GEN- 
ERAL VACANT WIRT SPOKEN OF.— HIS THOUGHTS UPON IT.— LETTER TO 

HIS DAUGHTER.— EMPLOYED BY MR. JEFFERSON IN THE BATTURE CASE- 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. J. IN REFERENCE TO DUANE.— MR. MADISON 
AND MR. G.\LL.\TIN. 

The letters given in the last chapter, have reference to the 
publication of " The Old Bachelor." The essays, under this 
title, were commenced in November, 1810, and were continued 
during the greater part of the succeeding year. We have had 
frequent occasion to notice the strong inclination of Wirt's mind 
for literary enterprise. The hope of achieving something hon- 
orable to himself in this way, his letters shew us, was the pre- 
vailing fancy of his meditations, and his pleasantest dream of the 
future. Exercise in literary composition, we have remarked 
also, was a prominent observance in his scheme of self-discipline 
and study. The Rainbow which, the reader may remember, had 
employed his leisure a few years ago, was more recently suc- 
ceeded by an enterprise of the same kind, — the publication of 
some essays, under the title of " The Sylph," of which but a few 
numbers had seen the light, before they were abandoned for the 
better-considered and more mature scheme of the Old Bachelor. 
The Old Bachelor reached thirty-three numbers. It is a series of 
didactic and ethical essays, put together somewhat after the model 
of the Spectator, and other works of that class, which once ob- 
tained such attractive popularity in English literature. It is not 
too much to say of these essays, that tliey may be compared, 
without disparagement, with the best of those of Addison and 
Steele. The Old Bachelor was originally published in the En- 
quirer. These papers were afterwards collected in two vo- 
lumes, in which shape they reached a third edition, and are now 



296 THE OLD BACHELOR. [1811. 

eminently deserving of republication, as a most instructive and 
agreeable production of" American literature. 

In this enterprise, Wirt was assisted by several gentlemen of 
Virginia, amongst whom he seems to have turned, with the surest 
expectation of valuable aid, to his friend and comrade, Carr. 

In the dramatis personae of the Old Bachelor, the chief part is 
borne by Dr. Cecil, which was sustained, exclusively, by the pen 
of Wirt, himself, and engrosses much the largest share of these 
volumes. A letter from Squaretoes, in the ninth number, I believe, 
is all that was contributed by Carr. Galen and Alfred were con- 
signed to two young friends. Dr. Frank Carr, of Albemarle, and 
Richard E. Parker, a gentleman who was subsequently a member 
of the Senate of the United States. Melmoth was furnished by 
Dr. Girardin, of Richmond, the author of a valuable history of 
Virginia. There were some other contributions supplied by 
Judge Tucker, David Watson, of Louisa, and Mr. George 
Tucker, who has, since that period, attained to high distinction, 
as a professor of moral philosophy in the University of Virginia, 
and as the author of the biography of Mr. Jefferson and other 
works of approved value, which have brought him to the ac- 
quaintance and esteem of a large number of readers throughout 
the Union. There may have been other contributors to the Old 
Bachelor, whose names have escaped me. 

Without underrating the papers which have been supplied by 
the coadjutors in the enterprise, we may say of those from the 
pen of Wirt, that they give the ])rincipal attraction to the 
book. They are, undoubtedly, the best of all his literary compo- 
sitions ; and in the perusal of them we are constantly led to repeat 
our regrets, that one so endowed with the most valuable and, at 
the same time, pleasant gifts of authorship, had not been favored 
by fortune with more leisure and opportunity for the cultivation 
and employment of a talent so auspicious to his own fame and so 
well adapted to benefit his country. 

We have remarked of Wirt that his life is peculiarly fraught 
with materials for the edification of youth. His career is full of 
wholesome teaching to the young votary who strives for the re- 
nown of an honorable ambition. Its difficulties and impediments, 
its temptations and trials, its triumphs over many obstacles, its 
rewards, both in the self-approving judgment of his own heart. 



CHAP. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 297 

and in the success won by patient labor and well-directed study ; 
and the final consummation of his hopes, in an old age not less 
adorned by the applause of good men, than by the serene and 
cheerful temper inspired by a devout Christian faith ; — all these 
])resent a type of human progress worthy of the imitation of 
the young and gifted, in which they may find the most powerful 
incentives towards the accomplishment of the noblest ends of 
a generous love of fame. 

We may discern in every studied literary effort of his a 
strong inclination to address himself more to the rising generation 
than to that which is passing away. His letters are full of this 
purpose. His many visions of future ease and enjoyment all seem 
to derive their attraction from the contemplation of the good he 
might confer in directing the education and pursuits of ingenuous 
and talented youth. The Old Bachelor is emphatically the reali- 
zation of some such hope, long vaguely entertained but now 
furnished with the means and occasion for utterance. It is a 
precious book for the young American reader : it deals in topics 
to excite his national pride and emulation : it points out his road 
to duty and renown, with a delicate and discriminating skill ; and 
beguiles him to the cultivation of the severest virtues, with a charm 
so potent as almost to convert the rugged and laborious track of 
discipline into a " primrose path of dalliance." 

These essays have a peculiar merit from being the rapid and 
simple effusions of the mind of the author, thrown off with unaf- 
fected negligence, and frequently even without revision. They 
seem to have been, often, the unstudied suggestions of moments 
snatched from professional duty, and to have been committed to 
the press whilst yet glowing with the first ardor of composition. 
Occasionally, we have an essay of the highest finish and full of the 
impassioned eloquence of the writer ; but we recognize, in the 
greater part of these papers, the reflex of a mind delighted with 
its task as a pastime, and flinging abroad its thoughts, like the 
involuntary transpirations of a healthy body, without a conscious- 
ness of effort or labor. Wirt's style has often been reproved, by 
judicious critics, for its profusion of ornament and too gorgeous 
display of rhetorical costume. His imagination has been charged 
with too often taking the reins from his judgment. The ardor of 
his temperament, we must admit, not unfrequently has infused into 



298 THE OLD BACHELOR. [ISll. 

liis writings a glow which might be reduced in tone without im- 
pairing the strength of his style, — indeed, even adding to its vigor 
and imparling to it a more classic severity. But tlie reader of the 
Old Bachelor will find these essays less open to that objection 
than, perhaps, any other of Wirt's compositions. They seem to 
be all the better for the unstudied haste in which they have been 
written. The young writer is often told, by way of precept in 
his art, to erase from his manuscript whatever passage has struck 
him in the composition as being particularly fine : Always suspect 
yourself when you perpetrate what you think fine writing ; good 
taste is apt to revolt at the effort to produce what is called effect. 
The essays of Dr. Cecil furnish but few occasions for the appli- 
cation of this precept. 

In the correspondence which now follows, the reader will 
peruse, with no little pleasure, the letters between the two friends 
who have been so frequently introduced into these pages. Wirt 
and Carr are here in communion, chiefly upon the topics of the 
Old Bachelor and tlie impressions these essays were making upon 
the public. The correspondence, also, touches another subject in 
which the friendship of one writer and the modesty of the other 
are most agreeably illustrated. Some vacancies were about to 
take place in the arrangement of the Judiciary of the State, and 
Wirt was affectionately solicitous that his worthy friend should 
accept of an appointment to the Bench, which was likely to be 
offered to him. The letters will show, in a most attractive point 
of view, the disinterested and anxious regard with which Wirt 
pressed the acceptance, and the amiable self-distrust and diffi- 
dence with which Carr received the appointment when it was 
finally conferred upon him. Without further comment upon 
these pleasant passages between two excellent men, I submit 
to my readers these letters, partially abridged, — asking those 
who peruse them to keep in mind, that they belong to a 
private, confidential correspondence held at a time when the 
writers exulted in all the hopes of the prime of manhood, and 
spoke to each other in the playful temper of friends who had no 
secrets in their companionship, nor motive to suppress the 
expression of any, the wildest, freak of the glad and jovial spirit 
which presided over their intimacy. 



CHAP XIX. ] LETTER FROM CARR. 299 

We take up this correspondence witli an extract of a letter 
from Carr, which contains an amusing account of a visit he had 
just made to Dunlora, the seat, as the reader is aware, of his 
brother Col. Samuel Carr, in the neighborhood of Charlottesville, 
where the Old Bachelor had been the topic of conversation. 
The work had, at lliis time, reached the twelfth or thirteenth 
number, and the author was still unknown, beyond a current 
suspicion. Carr had just returned from Richmond, where he had 
been Wirt's guest, and was, therefore, supposed to know all about 
the book. He had himself also written Squaretoes in the ninth 
number, which the company at Dunlora had all read, 

" I met there," he says in this letter, " Peter Minor and his 
wife, Dabney Minor and my brother Peter, who all made affec- 
tionate inquiries after you. Very soon, the conversation turned on 
the Old Bachelor. They seemed to think I must know all about 
it. I observed, gravely, if you were the author, you kept it 
very close, for you denied it to your best friends. 'As to that,- 
said Old Straws,* ' I feel as certain that he wrote the papers, as 
if I had seen him at it,' 1 remarked, that if you did, indeed, 
write them, you must have taken very little time about it, for that 
I was with you almost the whole time, and saw nothing of it. 
Peter Minor solved this doubt by saying, that he suspected the 
pieces were all written, for many numbers ahead, before any 
were published. Here my brother Peter put in again : — 'As to 
Love-truth, he could not pretend to say ; but Squaretoes, he was 
certain, was not by the Old Bachelor: he could see the pen of 
George Tucker in every line of it : the phrases were all his, 
particularly, ' I scorn your words.' ' As another proof that it 
was not by the Old Bachelor, he said, ' There was a u'armth, and 
even a harshness, in the Bachelor's reply, in the next number, be- 
yond what the occasion called for, — especially in his remarks on 
the Squaretoes library. For,' he maintained, ' there was not even 
a shadow of disrespect shown to the Bible by Obadiah : he was 
only enumerating the family books ; and, amongst these, he gave 
the Bible the first place, and Mrs. Glass the last.' All this was 
nuts to me. By-the-bye, my wife is convinced as to the author of 

* A jocular designation, it seems, of Peter Carr. 



300 LETTER TO CARR. [ISll. 



Squaretocs. You remember, I told you I suspected the bed of 
Justice, held by Squaretoes and his dame, would be apt to betray 
me. It was even so. This, together with my abuse of ridicules, 
which she has often heard from me before, satisfied her. Frank, 
also, had his suspicions. But my brother Peter overruled him, 
with a voice of authority." 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 10, 1811. 
My Dear Friend: 

Although rather tardy, I take the first twenty minutes I could 
call my own, since the arrival of your letters, to acknowledge the 

favor. 

I enjoyed, very highly, the scene at Dunlora. The sage guesses 
of the two Peters, and the twisting of your mouth, and working 
of your eye-brows, which I discerned as distinctly as if I had 
been gifted with the old Domine's deuteroscopy. 



* 



The Old Bachelor, you perceive, begins to shew the effect of 
affe. He moves slowly, and halts most horribly. The truth 
is, that the Court of Chancery has begun, and the old fellow 
cannot be expected at his time of life, to carry double. Nothing 
from Parker yet. Is'nt Frank ashamed of himself .!* 

The vacation of induced me to take an unauthorized 

liberty with a friend of mine, so far as to talk with some of the 
heads of the Lower House ; but, they were all pre-occupied, or 
seemed " to smell the business with a sense, as cold as is a dead 
man's nose ;" and, as I did not choose to commit that same friend, 
on an uncertainty, I said no more. But it is inconceivable what 
an alarm the mere suggestion of such a rival produced among the 
candidates. Upon the whole, 'tis all well. 

****** 

We are well. Cabell, his wife and Co., are here. Would 
you were with us ! 

I am in a storm of children. Our love to you and yours. 

Dinner is just ready. 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAP. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 301 

Carr had written another paper for the Old Bachelor, — a 
letter from Grace Squaretoes. He had no recognition of it from 
his friend, and had not yet received the short letter of the 10th, 
which we have just read. 



FROM CARR TO WIRT. 

"Charlottesville, February 11, 1811. 
"Mi Care Eras: 

"I take it, you are a man of your word, — a most rare example 
of a punctual correspondent. When we parted, your last in- 
junction, enforced by a cordial shake of the hand, was, ' write 
often.' 

******* 

" Nearly four weeks gone by, and not one line from you ! No, 
not a word ! Reflecting on this matter, I have supposed it pos- 
sible that your silence has been caused by that same letter of 
Grace's. It was a hasty indiscretion, overlooked but once, and 
instantly closed and sent off. I have no doubt it is a poor thing- 
Now, I have thought it possible that, not finding it to your pur- 
pose, you have felt reluctant to tell me so, and seeing that you 
could not well write without saying something about it, you have 
been silent. If this should be the case, as I do not, in fact, be- 
lieve, it would really mortify me, — not that the piece was re- 
jected, but that you should have any difficulty in telling me so. 
* * * Could you think so poorly of me as to 

suppose, for a moment, I could not bear the rejection of a baga- 
telle of mine .-' 

******* 
" I have ventured to let Old Straws into the secret. I thought 
it best ; for, not being trusted, he felt no restraint and asserted as 
confidently that you were the author, as if he had had the most 
positive information. I was in hopes, too, he would contribute ; 
and he has, indeed, promised me that he would try his iiand. 



"Frank is still recreant, but he promises still. 



VOL. 1—26 



n 



302 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 15, 1811. 

My Dear Dabney: 

I have received your rebuke of the 11th inst., and would plead 
guihy to it if I had not written you, at least, one short letter, 
last Monday, and had not been so constantly occupied by the 
Court of Chancery and by company, as to leave me no time for 
any thing else. 

Of the constancy as well as the importunity of -these engage- 
ments, you will be able to form a proper estimate, when you dis- 
cover that I have not been able, this week, to take even a short 
airing on my hobby, the Old Bachelor. 

I acknowledge your goodness in having given me three ex- 
cellent letters since your departure. Of that which describes the 
Dunlora scene, I have already written. It was a good one. I 
entirely approve of your communication, since, to our brother 
Peter. Indeed secrecy, though I feel its importance now more 
ihan ever, seems to be impossible. Joe Cabell, to whom Read 
imparted it through mistake, told me, when I enjoined secrecy 
upon him, that I resembled the ostrich, hiding his head while 
his whole body was exposed to the world. 

******* 

Miss Grace is, I think, a lass of grace. But I will take the 
liberty of telling you, that I have seen you in moments of happier 
inspiration, when you could have made more of the damsel than 
you have done. When I wrote you on Sunday, I had determined 
to give her to the world, without touching one thread of her 
dress; but I think now, 1 will make free enough to alter a little 
the set of her cap and fixture of her tucker. No, sir, I have no 
more fear of ofl'ending or wounding you, by changing or rejecting 
one of your essays, than if it were one of my own ; and, as I have 
taken both these liberties with several of mine, so will I take 
them with yours, as often as there shall, in my opinion, be occa- 
sion. 

I beg you to continue the use of your stimulants to our brother 
Peter. He is a fellow of such various and ample reading, and of 
such just and copious thought and splendid diction, that I should 



CHAP. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 303 



think it impossible for any thing to fall from his pen, but what 
would do credit to the Old Bachelor. I should think he would 
shine in the department of criticism and of fancy. Cannot he 
give us an oriental or occidental tale, or an allegory, or any 
thing of that, or any other sort.? The epistolary style would, 
perhaps, put him more at his ease ; and, it would cost hun very 
little effort, I should think, to address a letter to Doctor C . 

What you tell me of the increasing fame of the Old Bachelor, 
is calculated, in some degree, to dispel the lassitude that is be- 
ginning to creep upon me in relation to the old fellow. 

I very frankly confess to you, (though I would not do it to 
every body,) that I am tired of the project, even before I have 
reached the principal subject, education. But, besides this, our 
courts are now made perpetual, and the Old Bachelor is rather in 
the way of my business. I do not mean, by this, that 1 have re- 
solved to drop him altogether; but, that he will see the light 
much more rarely than heretofore. 

I am only able to attend to him of nights ; and these, besides the 
calls of the law, are very much at the mercy of visitors. To this 
latter cause it is, in a great degree, owing that there is no num- 
ber this week. 

Frank is a dastardly fellow. I had thought him a Corinthian — 

a lad of metal, — but 1 now discover that he is no better than 

he should be. Parker has not given me a single line. 

I have no more time to write now ; and all this being about the 
Old Bachelor, does not look much as if I was tired of it. 

Our love to you, and Mrs. C. and children. 

Wm. Wirt. 



FROM CARR TO WIRT. 

"Charlottesville, February 18, 1811. 

"My Dear Friend: 

******* 

" With respect to that rebuke of mine, as you call it, you know 
I only meant to show you that I was very anxious to hear from 
you ; and, whenever I give you cause, or you take it into your 
head that I do, you shall abuse me in turn, and I will say, ' you 
are welcome, brother Shandy, if it were fifty times as much.' 



304 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

" Poor Grace ! I certainly used her scurvily. My excuse is, 
that she was done up in too great a hurry. Alter not only her 
cap and tucker, but — asking her pardon — you may strip her alto- 
gether, if you like, and dress her to your mind. I fear, however, 
that the story my old master, Maury, used to tell his pupils a hun- 
dred times, of Pope and the link boy, will be applicable to her. 
You knew the old gentleman. He doated on a good story. It 
was our practice to write a Latin exercise on a slate, and take it 
to him of a morning. If there was any false Latin, he marked it 
wdth a pencil, and we had to mend it. When it was very bad, he 
sometimes rubbed out the whole. Then came the old story : 
' Did you ever hear the story of Pope and the link boy ?' 

'"No, sir.' 

" ' I'll tell it to you. Pope, the poet, was a homely little fellow, 
somewhat deformed. When any thing surprised him, or hap- 
pened suddenly, he had a way of crying out, ' God mend me !' 
One night, as he was walking the street, he called a link boy — a 
shabby looking dog — to light him on his way. Presently he 
stumbled, and falling, cried out, ' God mend me !' ' Lord, sir !' — 
says the boy — ' mend you ? He'd better undertake to make two 
new ones.' 

" The good old man was so pleased with the wit of the story, 
that the boys generally got off without further scolding. 
******* 

" Frank is, as you say, a terrible rascal. I tell him so, and 
abuse him shockingly. He is about it, and about it ; but when 
he will be done, nobody knows." 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 27, 1811. 
Mv Dear Friend : 

I snatch a morning before breakfast to thank you for your favor 
of the 18th. 

****** 

You must excuse the tardiness of Miss Grace's appearance. 

I am reserving her till 1 have leisure to play the dressing-maid 

to her. But do not be alarmed for her native graces, — I shall do 

very little, and that little will not ad'ect the simplicity of her 



CHAP. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 305 

appearance. I shall bring her out on a holiday, and make " the 
town-bred fair " blush at her superiority. 

I have several correspondents on my hands, (I mean in my 
character of the Old Bachelor,) who embarrass me not a little. 

One of them, entre nous, is . But I am obliged to strangle 

his offspring in the birth as monstrous : and monstrous you will 

think them when you learn that they are to be rejected, while 

is to be chosen. By-the-bye, we were too hasty in giving that 
promise ; for I shall have so much ado to mend him, that I am, in 
relation to him, exactly within the rule of Pope's link-boy. 

Yes — poor old Parson ! I well know how he could tell the 

same story with unabated pleasure. Vye mind, — as the Scotch- 
Irish say over the Ridge, — the way he had of reciting Horace's 
Odes ; asking you, in a conversational voice, rather piano and in 
alto, if you remembered that beautiful ode beginning, " Stet alta 
nive candidum Soracte," and, at the reciting part, dropping 
abruptly into the pulpit dirge ? Well, he was a good old fellow, 
and I remember him with even more esteem and affection than I 
was conscious of feeling for him when living. 

I have another piece from G., rather better than the former. 
I have several, too, from G. T., two of which you will see in 
number fifteen — the letters from Tamper and Schryphel. All the 
rest of the number is Cecil's. To take the point of the con- 
cluding paragraph of O'Flannagan's letter, you must read the close 
of Blackburn's advertisement in the last Enquirer. He is the 
mathematical professor at William and Mary College ; a capital 
mathematician, but one of the most imprudent of Irishmen, — which 
is saying a bould loord. 

tF ^ tF "Ir V 7P 

I have received, from various quarters, the most encouraging 
evidences of the success of the Old Bachelor. Doctor Hare, 
(who, I hope, as he and all his old friends do, has been brought 
back to life and his old constitution, by his late salivation — 
having every evidence of health except flesh and strength, which 
he is fast recoverins:, — and who desires to be most affectionately 
remembered to you,) Dr. Hare, / say, (Blair !) writes me that 
L. C. is enraptured with the Old Bachelor. They concur in think- 
ing it will be of great service. Tucker writes that it is doing 
VOL. 1—26* 



306 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 



good to the country, and honor to its author. Judge Nelson calls 
it a most noble and honorable enterprise. * * * 

These things, and many more which I hear, (such as that the sub- 
scribers to the Enquirer have very much increased in consequence 
of it,) not only encourage me to go on, but enforce your sentiment 
that it is a duty ; and on 1 shall go, as fast and as well as I can, 
for my professional engagements. In the meantime, you, who 
live in the country, must watch and tell me when my readers are 
getting tired, and when they censure either the matter or the 

manner. 

# * # * * # 

Frank is a scurvy rascal ; and if he does not make haste, I will 
impale him in the face of that public to whom I have extolled 
him. After seeing what light things we occasionally publish, why 
should the rascal be holding his head so high ? His head^ did I 
say ? " He has a head, and so has a pin." Let him take that 
and put it in his pocket. 
What from Don Pedro } 

****** 
I am — why need I tell you what ^ 

Wm. Wirt. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, March 8, 1811. 

Mv Dear Friend : 

Our friend Kinney has long since informed you, in detail, 
wherefore (as our Chancellor says,) we acted as we did in relation 
to you last winter : i. e., why we did not act all. The judicial 
vacancy on which we had our eye, not having been created, there 
was an end of that project. Another has now occurred. James 
Pleasants has resigned the office of Judge of the Court of Appeals ; 
and Tucker, (this is for the present a profound secret which every 
body knows,) will resign in the course of the month. This 
creates two vacancies in the Court of Appeals; don't be 

alarmed, it is not that Court I am thinking of for you now. 

But those two vacancies, so as aforesaid created and to be created^ 
must be filled ; and it is pretty well ascertained, w ill be filled by 
Stuart and Cabell. To Stuart's circuit, I suppose Coalter will 



CHAP. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 307 

fall heir; and I presume you would not have Coalter's : but what 
say you to Cabell's ? He says it is a most delightful circuit. It 
includes Powhatan, — in the which county, in the vicinity of 
Pleasants and Pope, you might easily locate yourself upon a little 
farm, and live in primeval innocence and happiness. 

I know it is a heart-string-snapping sort of business to quit 

Charlottesville and its purlieus. Would it then be possible for 

you so to arrange with Coalter as to keep the Charlottesville 

district .'' These things you must think of, and arrange as you can. 

**■*#** 

There is no division of opinion among your friends here, 
that you ought to accept, if it shall be tendered, an appointment 
by the Council ; because, examining the subject with all possible 
calmness, we have no doubt of your confirmation by the Legisla- 
ture ; and of your appointment by the Council I have very little 
fear. There is Hare — (who is almost well, and who will be here 
by the time the appointment is made ;) — well, there is Hare — 
Read, Wardlow, Randolph, Doctor Jones — who, I think, Avill 
certainly vote for you. Then you have an equal chance for the 
rest, who are Colonel Smith, (Geo. W.) Minis and Mallory ; thus 
you see your chances. Will you come in, or will you not .-' You 
see, if you are elected, that is, appointed by the Council, there 
will be no occasion for your removal, or making any other 
arrangements until we see whether you shall be confirmed by the 
Assembly ; and if you should not, — I suppose it will neither 
break your leg nor pick your purse, materially. But should you 
be confirmed, of which I repeat it there is no reasonable ground 
to doubt, — why, then, sir, you are an honorable for life ; in a fair 
way to the highest honors of your profession; and, in fact, 
advanced to within a few jumps of the goal. 

I pray you weigh this matter, and be prepared to decide it, if 
you shall be called upon. I suppose we shall know the whole 
result before this month is out, or very early in the next. 

I am in a great hurry ; and so, with our love to Mrs. Carr, 
yourself, and children, 

I am, as ever, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



308 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. '[ISll. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

March 10, 1811. 

3^C ^k 3)p •** "W "JF ^ 

By-the-bye, let me boast a little : yet I am more ashamed of 
shewing vanity before you than any other man in the world. 
I persuade myself, however, that the pleasure which a man feels 
at the approbation of the great and good is laudable, and scarcely 
deserves so degrading a name as vanity. If this point is settled in 
my favor, then I will tell you that R., who is just from Washington, 
says that the Old Bachelor has great eclat at head-quarters ; that 
Mr. Madison had said, sir, (so I desire that you will pay proper 
respect to me, hereafter,) that he thought Mr. Ws pen, at least, 
ought to redeem us from the censures of the Edinburgh 
Reviewers ; that there was a chastity, an elegance, and a some- 
thing else, which R. could not remember, in his style, which 
charmed him. Now, sir, if R. did not invent this, quod non 
constat^ it is a compliment. AVhat makes me most dubious of it 
is, that, if there be anything bearable in my style, the points of 
compliment which R. imputes to Mr. M. are not exactly those I 
should have expected. Chastity is the character of Mr. M's own 
style ; as to mine, I have thought it about as chaste as Cleopatra, 
in her attire. But enough, and too much of me and my brats. 

I conversed with Nicholas, yesterday, de loco vacuo judicis. 
He thinks it as plain as a pike-staff in our favor. 

I have very little doubt of it, and advise you to hold yourself 
ready, sub rosa, to take a circuit on the first of April ; for it will 
be, perhaps, a sudden thing. 

About a place of residence, in case of your appointment, — you 
will see by the range of Cabell's circuit, that it offers a variety, 
for it takes in Amelia, the neighborhood of Giles, Eppes, and the 
Tabbs, besides Powhatan and Manchester. 

In the latter place and its neighborhood, there are a variety of 
beautiful tenements and lots of from twelve to twenty acres, where 
you might raise a profusion of clover for your horses and cows ; 
enjoy the fine prospect of Richmond, its Capitol, and picturesque 
hills and valleys, together with the whole ambit of James River, 
its falls and port ; besides the power of our being with each other 
as long and as often as we please. What say you to this ? And 



CHAP. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 309 

when old H dies, think of that, Master Brooke ! — Q,— E — D, 

as Warden told the Court of Appeals. Now, d'ye see, Judge 
Carr^ I think this a most capital plan. By my conscience^ as the 
Bishop says, (for I love to quote my authority, always,) I think 
Judge Carr has a most original, and, as it were, melodious sort 
of a sound. 

To think what we are all to come to ' Well, happy man be 
his dole, say I!— And that, of all the Carrs, the honor should light 
upon my old Louisa and Fluvanna comrade, with his grumbling 
and blue devils! Well, it is a long lane that has no turn, and an ill 
wind that blows nobody luck, — also, throw a crust of bread, &c., — 
together with forty other proverbs that Sancho would pour forth 
on a like occasion. 

If W. H. Cabell is elected, he will immediately come here to 
live. I think his brother Joe will come here too ; and if you come 
to Manchester,— only think, with the aid of Davy, and Clarke and 
/, and occasional visits from our upland friends, what a society 
we may form ! Shall we not find the foot-hold that Archimedes 
wished for in vain, and turn the world upside down, — I mean the 
moral and literary world ? I scarce think we could turn up a 
worse side ; it is the deuce of clubs, or at least, the curse of Scot- 
land. My spirits are in such a jig at this prospect, that I can 
scarcely hold my pen to write intelligibly ; and at such a time, 
and on such an occasion, I scorn to write anything but nonsense. 

For fear, however, of false inferences, you will please to be 
informed that it is the forenoon, and I am just from church. So, 
sir, I scorn your suspicions. 

Cabell went up home this morning. I wrote to Hare, and gave 
him your postscript, verbatim et literatim. You know it is about 
binding him, hand and foot, and deporting him, if he will not keep 
away from Richmond. Whereupon, I observed, that I believed 
you never would forgive him if he should even go so far as to 
come down only for a day or two to vote for you. I gave him 
to understand, indeed, that your appointment would probably 
depend upon it, but that he was not to mind that. 

Now, are you not ashamed of that selfish twinge which leads 
you to wish that Hare would, at least, trust himself here until he 
could give his vote ? — So you would endanger his health rather 
than not get the office !— O fie, fie, sir ! However, believing 



310 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [ISll. 

that such would be your wish, to tell you the truth, I observed to 
him that I thought you would not be implacable for a short trip on 
this occasion ; and he will certainly come, dead or alive. 
Love to all. 

Again yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CARR TO WIRT. 

"Charlottesville, March 14, 1811. 
''My Dear Frtend : 

" I dined at Monticello yesterday, and did not return home until 
a little after night. My children were put to bed ; my wife and I 
sitting quietly by our happy fireside — I reading to her Lady Mon- 
tague's letters — when suddenly it occurred to me, that it was post 
day. I sent a servant immediately for my letters, who, returning, 
brought me yours of the 8th and 10th. 

" It would have diverted you, not a little, to see the flurry and 
flutter into which this threw us. It was the first time that the 
idea of elevation to the Bench, was brought distinctly before me. 
I had viewed it before as a distant possibility. Your letter made 
it, at least, probable that it would be offered to me, and that very 
soon. I cannot tell you what a feeling this produced ; — a feeling 
w'hich seems to increase as I think of it — something like a timid 
young girl on the eve of marriage. How will it be with me .'' 
Mounted on the bench, the officers of justice planted around, court 
opened, the bar lined wuth attorneys, every one thronging in to see 
the new judge, the grand jury sworn, proclamation made that his 
Honor is about to charge them — then the stormy wave of the 
multitude hushed into silence, and every eye bent upon me. What 
a tremor the idea gives me ! Yet I will on." 

******* 



CHAP. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 311 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, March 23, 1811. 
My Dear Friend : 

Cabell is elected to the Court of Appeals, and your election is 
infallible. Out of six members who are here, it is ascertained 
that there are four who are for you. Hare, Reid, Randolph and 
Wardlow. — how the remaining members are is unknown; but 
there is no probability of their concurring against you — and, if 
they do, your friends are resolved to hold the Council divided 
rather than give way. The point, it is supposed, will be decided 
on Tuesday next, and I regard you as elected. 

Now, sir, I hope you will sit down, immediately on the receipt 
of this, and write your address to the grand jury. 

Take care of your modesty ; that is, beware lest it impair the 
energy and dignity of the judge. Don't go and be overwhelmed 
and panic-struck, as I was, so as to make people think " poor fel- 
low, I dare say he wishes he was at home again." 

You know that I am not such a simpleton as to find fault with 
that degree of modesty which unlocks the hearts of men, women 
and children, to a man. But I know that you do think, and ever 
have, tor these lifteen years, at least, thought of yourself with too 
much humility. Now, although " in peace there's nothing so be- 
comes a man, as modest stillness and humility, yet when the blast 
of court blows in our ears," and sheriff's o-yes bids the jury rise, 
" then stitfen the sinews, bend the muscles up, and imitate the 
action of" — Lord INIansfield. 

These two appointments put a poultice on the bruises of the 
Legion and Clarke. " O that right should thus overcome might," — 
as the old woman says in the play, when she is meaning to com- 
plain of the oppression of power. 

Sir, you are to make a great man. The organization of your 
mind qualities you to scale the heights of Mansfield and Hard- 
wicke ; and your temper and manners will strew flowers on the 
path of your ascent. 

You must read every book that Mansfield ever read ; they are 
all to be had, and your leisure will now enable you to do it. Sir, 
you shall " bestride the lazy-pacing cloud, and sail upon the bosom 



312 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [ISll. 

of the air," and mark " the white up-turned eyes of us mortals that 
fall back to gaze on" — you. 

I tell you again, that you can, and must, and shall stand upon the 
very summit, the pinnacle, the apex of judicial glory. I know it — ' 
1 see it — and who shall say me nay ? 

Your circuit will bring you close to us. Chesterfield is only 
sixteen miles from us ; Powhatan but thirty. You must come and 
see us between terms ; this, you know, is your home — but need I 
tell you this.'' 

I will endeavor to get from Cabell, a statement of the dif- 
ficult questions which he has suspended by an advisari vult^ to- 
gether with his authorities, notes, &c., and meet you, with them, 
somewhere upon your circuit. 

Hare and myself count on your making such an impression 
throughout your circuit this spring and fall, that '■'■min nor diviW'^ 
cannot " stap ^e" from being confirmed next winter. 

It will be an awkward thing for you not to know the bar, and 
as awkward for you (a judge) to carry letters of introduction to 
the lawyers. I believe the best plan will be for Cabell to 
send a letter of introduction to some one prominent member of 
each bar, introducing him to you, and begging him to introduce 
his brethren to you, and the respectable country gentlemen around 
the court houses. This will answer the purpose without letting 
you down. 

****** 

My watch informs me that the mail has closed. I will therefore, 
take my leisure, and write a little more legibly, since I have to 
depend on Frank to get this in as a way-letter. But I cannot 
write a very long letter, because I have to finish the nineteenth 
number of the Old Bachelor to-night. 

I think your remark on 's letters is correct ; the irony is 

too delicate, — it is cold. Yet, the pieces have played the deuce 
with the Old Bachelor here — they are said to be personal attacks ; 
and, with the co-operation of my own seventeenth number, have 
subjected me Xo a good deal of ill-natured remark, as if I were 
lampooning the town. If such a notion as this were once to get 
on foot, all the benefits intended by the publication would be at an 
end. And, therefore, I sat down, immediately, and wrote the 
eighteenth number, to prevent any such pernicious effects. I be- 



CHAP. XIX] THE OLD BACHELOR. 313 

lieve it has answered the purpose. But I am very much tram- 
melled by this impertinence in applying characters. It is much 
the liveliest and most impressive way of moralizing ; yet I never 
draw a character without displeasing- somebody or other. If it is 
wrong to draw characters, you are partly in fault, for you said to 
me, not long before you left me, " you must begin, presently to 
draw characters." Why should not I ^ What right have the ras- 
cals to find fault with me if a vicious character fits them ? As to 
lampooning or throwing stones for pure mischief and wantonness, 
I would sooner cut off my right hand. But if it is necessary to 
the purposes of virtue, if it is the most interesting mode that I can 
adopt to expose a vice, and render it ridiculous or hateful, why 
should I not do it? 

You see, Ritchie is going to make a book of the old fellow. I 
don't much like this way of becoming an author, or rather of being 
made one without having the fear of it, all along, before my eyes. 
Now, most certainly, if I had intended to sit down and write a 
book, and become a downright author, I should have chosen a 
subject better calculated to put me up in the ranks ; one calcu- 
lated to exhibit the whole of the little compass and strength of 
my mind. If I had realized the idea that my good name, fame 
and reputation were at stake, I would have taken care to write to 
the best advantage — in rural privacy, for instance, and only in the 
happiest moments of inspiration, after having, by previous medi- 
tation, exhausted upon it all my retail shop of thought. Instead 
of this, I have been dribbling on, with a loose pen, carelessly 
and without any labor of thinking, amidst incessant interrup- 
tions — and with the printer's devil at my elbow, every half hour, 
jogging me for more copy. 

It is true the probability of the numbers being collected into 
a volume, was several times mentioned to me, and several times 
passed slightly through my mind. But somehow I have not dwelt 
upon it; the idea has not been realized; and it seems impossible 
that any man writing newspaper essays, as I am doing, can have 
the feelings or care of a man who sits down with malice prepense 
to write a book. But enough on this tack; you will think all 
this affectation : — but if you do, as Tom Bowling says, in Rod- 
erick Random, "you will think a d d lie." 

VOL. 1—27 



314 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [ISll. 

Why does not our trusty and well-beloved Peter sow some of 
the seeds of immortality in tlie Old Bachelor ? If he does not, 
the old fellow will be under the turf in less than ten years. 

Is not Frank a rascal ? Does'nt he know that he is a rascal ? 
Has he the face to deny that he is a rascal? The fellow's 
face, to be sure, is ugly and hard enough for any thing: but if 
he were to deny that he is a rascal, he would be no true man. I 
shall take care to put a key to the first volume of the Old Bach- 
elor, to let the world know who is meant by Galen, and shall pub- 
lish the letters I have received from him on this subject, in an ap- 
pendix, that the world may know what sort of fellow he is, and 
that I did not make the promise I have given, without authority. 

I told you I should not write a long letter, and you see I am 
better than my word. But it is past nine o'clock, and I have yet 
to finish the nineteenth number. Grace will be out on Tuesday 
week. 

Our love to your household. Hare is still well. 

Adieu, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CARR TO WIRT. 

"Charlottesville, March 25, 1811. 

"My Dear Friend: 

******* 

" Yesterday's mail brought me yours of the 23d. You say my 
election is infallible. I must acknowledge it looks something like 
it. So, upon the strength of it, I have begun to prepare in 
earnest. Fearful is the thought of sticking myself upon the 
Bench, standing the shot of every eye, and giving it back in 
speeches ; but, I will screw my courage to the sticking point, and, 
with a strong effort, drive back the blood which would mount 
into my face. They shall not see the coward heart which trem- 
bles within. ' How many men who, inward searched, have livers 
white as milk, wear yet upon their front, the brow of Hercules 
and frowning Mars.'' 1 don't know whether this quotation be ap- 
posite, but you may take it, as a Rowland for your Oliver. 
******* 



CHAP. XIX.] 



THE JUDGESHIP. 315 



" As to your meeting me on my circuit, there are two objec- 
tions : First, it would be a trouble whicli I cannot consent you 
should take : and, second, I liad rather take a bear by the chin, 
than see you in court whilst I was on the bench in my first circuit. 
I will not say, my dear Wirt, that the friendly solicitude and zeal 
you have shown for me, in this affair, have surprised me ; but I 
will say, they have given me the truest pleasure my heart can feel. 
I will say, that they have raised me in my own esteem ; for I can 
never believe that man without merit, for whom you have dis- 
covered so much friendship." 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, March 26, 1811. 
Mt Dear Friend: 

Your stars have at length done you justice. The course of 

glory is opened to you, and the goal in full view. 

******* 

It is but this instant that H , a mischievous old rascal, has 

made my heart sink and turn cold, by telling me, with the best 
acted gravity, that T was elected. He relieved me, how- 
ever, in two or three minutes after I was semi-animis. 

I understand that you had five out of six of the Council in your 
favor. This is glorious ! I will drink your health in a bumper, 
at dinner, and hail you as Judge Carr. Now, how busy, busy 
will your imagination be, as you ride home. How will the plans 
and schemes swarm ! — the airy castles tower ! To eke out these 
operations, H says, he'll be if you shall come to Man- 
chester. He says you shall buy a small farm in the country, 
where, with six or seven servants, you can maintain your family, 
keep your children in health, and save your salary, wholly. 

The suggestion brought a very beautiful and valuable place, as 
represented to me, in Powhatan, in full view. It belongs to a 
man by the name of Woodson, — has an admirable piece of mea- 
dow on it, and a most excellent, nay, beautiful house, with all 
necessary offices. 

I should have bought it myself, last summer, but Cabell, Hare 
and others persuaded me I had no business with a farm. 



316 CORRESPONDENCE VVITII CARR. [ISll- 

This place lies within two miles of Pope's ; and, I think, will 
cost you seven or eight thousand dollars, at the outside, — of 
which, only two or three thousand, I think, were required in cash. 
You can buy this place, and stock it, without invading your salary, 
or absorbing that capital oi" which we talked when you were 
liere. You can make your farm a source of profit, as well as of 
subsistence ; and, I doubt not, that if you provide the first payment, 
the instalments will be easily met by the agricultural profits and the 
interest of your remaining capital, so as to leave that capital, itself, 
whole, and enable you to lay up and save every cent of your salary- 
Think of the accumulations of ten years, on this scale, while 
fame is accumulating also. The prospect is delightful ! 

You see, I have done justice to this scheme of H 's. He 

went farther, and contrasted the consequences of a residence in 
Manchester; and, although his argument thwarted the plan which 
self would have prescribed for you, (meaning my self,) yet I con- 
fess he staggered me in relation to your interest. 

These things, however, we can examine maturely, before the 
Legislature shall meet. 



* * 



I think I can see your broad grin before you get within a 
hundred and fifty yards of your house. These are precious 
feelings ! 

Once more, God bless you, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, April 11, 1811. 
Mt Dear Chevalier, alias Judge, &c.: 

I was honored, (mark me, sir, I say honored, for I felt the 
honor most sensibly,) by a letter from your wife, by the last 
Charlottesville mail, enclosing one for you. By-the-bye, she calls 
iierself my friend therein ; and, I would not give that declaration 
for all the friendship of you he fellows that ever were born. I 
tell you, sir, the word made my heart leap^ and I thought I was 
somebody. O ! there is something in the friendship of one of 
those souls of heavenly mould, that makes all the earth vanish in 



CHAP. XIX.] VAGARIES. 317 

my view ! Confound it ! Was there ever a fellow so much dis- 
appointed ? I was so much transported with this imagination of 
friendship, that, thinking it too much, I have turned to her short 
note, and instead of " friend," find it " yours, with great esteem." 
How came the idea into my head .-* No matter. " Yours, with 
great esteem," is good ; but, how much greater and less happy 
does it make me than " your friend." Poh ! says your judicial 
dignity, what nonsense ! Well, sir, — " poh !" — and there, as 
George Hay told Edmund Randolph, is a "poh for you." Now, 
sir, as I am told you can't receive your own letter from your 
wife until after this, you shall have the whole of hers to me, and 
so I enclose it, upon your special promise to return it again. 

And so, as I was saying — thinks I — would it not be pleasing to 

Mrs. C , to let her know I have received her husband's 

letter, and that it is in the right track to get to him .'' Thereupon, 
sir, I sets me down, and forthwith, in choice phrase, I writes me a 
letter to your wife. 

If a man will leave his wife, and go off, Heaven knows where, 
he must not be surprised if a sentimental young Adonis, like me, 
tries to take advantage of his absence. What I did write, sir, 
you will not hear from me, nor from her, unless she has a mind 
to put an end to the correspondence, thus happily begun. 

Hem ! — hem ! You are wrong, sir. The guess is incorrect. I 
have had no company to-day. Two segars, indeed, I have 
smoked ; but, I am just half way through a Court of Appeals 
argument, and I am displeased at the injustice you do me in sup- 
posing me to the south of the equator. 

Talking of the equator ; come, let us be geographical. Hea- 
vens ! Where are you ? Ain't you out of your latitude .-' — 
What a parcel of savages!— or, as they used to call it, salvages. 
Hush ! They speak well of you ; and, gratitude is a virtue in 
spite of Godwin. 

Well, now, I will be serious. I turned the page with a deter- 
mination to convince you I was sober, — and so I will ; — for when 
a man is — sober, why should'nt he appear to be so ? Very true f 
" But when or where this world was made for Caesar, I am weary 
of conjectures. — This shall end them." 

God bless you. All well. 

Wm. Wirt. 
VOL. 1—27* 



318 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [ISO. 

P. S. — Cabell says 1 must be drunk, or I should not have said 
" confouncV to you, when I might have said " consume,'''' — which 
he takes to be your word ; and which I now, for the first time, 
suspect you caught from Colonel Morris, with the rest of your 
classics. 

Love Peter Randolph. I am told his modesty envelopes him ; 
but, when you pierce it, you will find him lovely. 

Not one line for me ? Then come and see me. 

Judge C , inspired by this, writes you a funny letter, 

which he expects you to laugh at, in every line. 

Did you ever see such grave judicial stuff ? 

In reply to this he says : " you be !" " Upon my w^ord," 

says N , " this is Judge-like ;" but she is a federalist, and, 

of course, malicious. A literal dialogue. 

W. W. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, June 28, 1811. 

Mv Dear Judge : 

Never having committed such an act of negligence, as to leave 
behind me the key of my baggage, I know not how to imagine 
your embarrassments, or sympathise with your distresses. Care- 
lessness, " in man or woman, dear my lord, is," — as the old fellow 
told Colonel McDowell, " what I do hate." How does this tagging 
of Shakspeare and patching elegant quotations, hit your taste ? 
JVunquam animus. 

Judge Coalter takes your key, and will chaunt you the triumphs 
of the Court of Appeals. 

I am in main haste. My wife and bairns join in love to you 
and yours. Ere long, I shall write to you apud largum. For the 
present, with love to Don Pedro and friends, 

I am yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

In the midst of all the playfulness and exultation apparent in 
these letters, Wirt was suddenly brought to the contemplation of 
political preferment, from which he had hitherto expressed such 



CHAP. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY GENERALSHIP. 319 



determined aversion. The resignation of Mr. Rodney, which 
occurred at this period, left the post of Attorney General open to 
the disposal of the President. Many eyes were turned upon Mr. 
Wirt at tills juncture, as likely to be called to fill this office. His 
position at the bar, his acquirements and high reputation, as well 
as the friendly appreciation of him by Mr. Madison, rendered this 
event quite probable. The general speculation of the society of 
Riciimond upon this appointment, brought the subject so directly 
to his mind, that he was obliged to give it consideration — not 
very gravely, indeed, as will be seen presently. How he enter- 
tained the proposition, may be read in the following letter, in 
reply to some jocular advice upon the matter from Carr. 

The reader w^ill understand the reference to the " lignum apis 
Attorney General," as a specimen of that latinity which he may 
have heretofore observed, was somewhat cultivated between the 
two correspondents. Carr, in this vocabulary, is called " Caris- 
sime Currus ;'''' Wirt is some times addressed, in return, as " JJfi 
care Eras.'''' With this key, we may translate " nunquam animus^'''' 
in the last letter, " never mind," — and the phrase above alluded 
to, " lig7mm apis,'''' to signify the " would be" Attorney General. 

This letter is dated from Montevideo, the summer residence of 
Judge Cabell, in Buckingham, on the James River, where Wirt 
and his family were frequent guests. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Montevideo, August 11, 1811. 
My Dear Friend : 

I have already written seven letters this morning to go by the 
Judge, who has gone to Buckingham Court-house, and thus to be 
thrown, (i. e., the letters,) into the current of the mail ; but six of 
those letters were on business, the seventh in reply to one from 
General Minor, which I was anxious should meet him at the Sul- 
phur Springs, and which it w^ill be pushed to do, — as tiie letter 
wull have to make a circuit by Richmond. 

Your letter was to have been answered, also, through the same 
channel. But although I rose by the dawn of day, and had to 



S20 LETTER TO CARR. [1811. 



write by candle-light, my letters were unavoidably so long, and 
the Judge started so early, that I lost his conveyance for my 
answer to you, and shall have to throw this into the devious and 
perilous track of the Warminster monsoon : — the Lord send it a 
safe deliverance. I am in the humor, however, to write; and 
there is this advantage in the communion of the heart, that it is 
of no date, and so never grows stale. So now to your letter by 
Cabell, — which is one "so" more than the laws of euphony will 
justify,— and so I add two more, by way of keeping them in coun- 
tenance. Jlllons. 

It was, I think, only last winter that I told you, in all the sin- 
cerity and solemnity of friendly confidence, that I had resolved on 
a plan of life, from which I would not depart; which was to follow, 
with ardor, the pursuit of my profession, along the smooth bosom 
of the Pacific, on which I was now gliding with a fair breeze and 
flowing sail — and thus keep myself clear, by many a league, both 
of land and water, and of those dark and rough storms which are 
perpetually scourging and lashing- into foam the political Baltic. 
I saw by the experience of others, I told you, the treatment which 
I should experience, and could anticipate, almost with certainty, 
the topics of abuse and villification with which I should be 
regaled. All this was certainly prudence and sound sense, — 
perhaps a little too timorous for a hero; but, nevertheless, 
sensible,— and, as old James Heron said, when he threw up 
the ace, king and queen of trumps, at loo, " One cannot be too 
cauliousP 

Well, after this discreet, rational, philosophic talk which, I 
remember, satisfied you perfectly at the time, if I might judge by 
silence, looks and nods of assent, the next thing you hear from me 
is that I am red-hot, hissing hot, for a plunge into that aforesaid 
Baltic. What are you to think of such a man } Does such light 
and weather-cock versatility, denote a man of sufficient sinew to 
breast the surge of that stormy sea, and hold on upon his course.' 
Does it become a man who would be a politician .' Was I not 
deceiving both myself and you, when I thought myself philoso- 
phizing and resolving prudently ; was I not merely preparing a 
fund of consolation for political obscurity, and providing, without 
being conscious of it, for a walk, which I could not avoid, through 
the humble vale of life— for that track for which, alone, so much 



CHAP. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY GENERALSHIP. 321 

fickleness and caprice shew that I am fitted ? Or, have fame 
and distinction charms which no man, (however resolved,) can 
resist, on whom they please to look ? Or, have 1 mistaken my 
own particular character; and has there been, all along, a fund of 
dormant ambition in my breast, which required but the match to 
be pointed towards it to blow up, and betray itself; and that, too, 
when it was too late to do anything but betray itself? 

Now, I dare say that, so far from being ready to give me satis- 
faction in these particulars, your judicial head is, by this time, 
pretty much in the state of my Uncle Toby's, on a certain 
occasion which shall be nameless. 

But what is the use of pestering ourselves with speculations on 
this subject.^ The fact is so; the cat is out of the bag, — and what 
odds does it make how she came in it } 

Very true ; but inconsistency is so weak and silly a thing, that 
a man would much rather bewilder the beholder, in an abstruse 
and multi-forked speculation about its cause, than to stand stock 
still, like a target, and brave his steady gaze. Moore talks very 
happily of " dulling delight^ by exploring its cause ; " why may 
not a man borrow a hint from that thought, and endeavor to be 
" dulling contempt by exploring its cause .'' " I am not certain 
of the accuracy of the analogy ; but I shall not stop my pen to 
examine it ; for, if I do, I may have to blot out, and I hate a 
blurred and blotted letter : so, here we go ! 

Now, sir, let me tell you that I did not like your " lignum apis 
Attorney General of the United States." The retort was not a fair 
one ; you are in office, snug and safe, and, therefore, were fair 
and lawful game ; whereas I was only in a state of aspiration, 
with a pretty fair prospect of a disappointment before me. Sir, 
you were not only violating Sterne's beautiful sentiment of breaking 
a jest in the sacred jyresence of sorrow, but were breaking your 
jest on that very sorrow itself, — making it the theme and butt, as 
it were, of your merriment. 

As to you, I do not hear man, woman or child whisper the 
faintest susurration, (or susurrate the faintest whisper, as the case 
may be, as our form-books sagely tell us,) of a doubt of your 
being confirmed. Not meaning that our form-books tell us of a 
doubt, — for that would be to disregard the parenthesis, through 
mere wantonness and levity of head, than which there cannot be a 



322 LETTER TO CARR. [1811. 

greater misfortune to a Judge, except, indeed, the phimbosity of 
the same member, (if, indeed, it be a member,) (as I should 
suppose it not only was, but also the head and chief of members) — 
lo ! I am lost : — but to come back to you as the rallying point. 
Cabell says there is no more doubt of your confirmation than 

clialk's like cheese, or than any thing in the world. 

So, you see you are safe enough. 

I shall call at Pope's as I go down, about the 20th ; see whether 
the definitive treaty is signed ; examine the site, and give you my 
opinion, gratis. 

Now, this puts me in mind of myself, again ; for why should I 
wish to be going from Richmond, when you arc coming so near 
it ? Ay, w^hy should I .'' What is there in the rough, unbuilt, hot 
and desolate hills of Washington, or in its winter rains, mud, 
turbulence and wrangling, that could compensate me for all those 
pure pleasures of the heart I should lose in such a vicinity ? 
No, — since we have spent our youth and manhood together thus 
far, my wish is to go down the hill, " hand in hand, and sleep 
together at its foot." How natural was Pope's dying sentiment 
to his situation, " There is nothing in life that is worth a thought, 
but friendship !" W"e both know that there is another sentiment 
of still greater value ; yet they are both requisite to the harmony 
of the piece : love is the tenor of life's music, and friendship its 
bass. So, I will stay at Richmond. 

As at present advised, I think that Dallas, if he would accept, 
ought to have the appointment. J. T. Mason, I am told, would not. 
Pinkney, we conjecture here, will receive it, if it should be vacated. 
I know but little of him ; he had tiie reputation, when I was at 
school, of being tlie most eloquent young lawyer in Maryland. 
His foreign service, especially at this particular juncture of our 
foreign ailairs, might make him a useful member of the Cabinet. 
I cannot help thinking that there is something little, in this 
notion of appointing the highest ofiicers in the Union, by consid- 
eration of place. It may do in apj)ointing tide-waiters and mail- 
carriers; but were I a President, and forming a Cabinet who 
were to assist me in sustaining my vast responsibility, I Avould be 
no more governed by residence, than I would by the color of a 
man's hair. C ceteris paribus^ I would, indeed, regard it: — but I 
would, first, be very sure that the Cceteris were paribus. I give 



CMAP. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY GENERALSHIP. 323 

you this as an abstract principle, and not as one which would 
at all contribute to my promotion. As to myself, 1 hope you 
will believe me sincere when I tell you, that I should think Wal- 
ter Jones a preferable selection. I say not this as soliciting a 
compliment from you, my friend — for I know your partiality ; — but 
because I am in earnest, and because I wish to rcj)el an inference 
of which I was shocked to find my remark, on the other side, 
susceptible — that the principle of choosing by superior capacity, 
would lead to my appointment. This is an awkward scrape I 
have got myself into — so I will get out of it as fast as I can. 
******* 

I wish to Heaven I could have gone over with Cabell but I 
had a mountain of business to prepare for the fall campaigns. 

The Old Bachelor, you sec, suffers by my engagements. I 
have not had time, or the temper, since the summer vacation 
commenced, to please even myself, much less others, by an essay. 
****** 

Mrs. C. and the Judge join in affectionate remembrances. 

God bless you, 

Wm. Wirt. 

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that Mr. Pinkney 
succeeded to the Attorney Generalship in December of this year, 
and that Wirt's accession to this post was only deferred until the 
succeeding administration at Washington found occasion for his 
services. 

Passing from these topics, the reader will be pleased with the 
glimpse, which the next letter affords, into the privacy of do- 
mestic life, and the affectionate solicitude with which tlie subject 
of our memoir devoted himself to the education of his children. 
His eldest daughter Laura was now eight years of age. He has 
already marked out her course of study ; and his aim is to awaken 
her mind to a perception of the value of the discipline he incul- 
cates. To that end this letter is addressed to her, in language of 
such plain and simple structure, — almost in words of single syl- 
lables — as may reach the comprehension of a child, but, at the 
same time, wrought with admirable skill into a moral lesson of 
exquisite beauty. 



324 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. [1811. 

There is nothing amongst Mr. Wirt's productions more pleas- 
antly characteristic of himself, than this letter to his child. 

TO LAURA H. WIRT. 

Richmond^ September 13, 1811. 
My Dear Laura : 

I would have answered your letter sooner, but that my courts 
and my clients hardly leave me time to write to your dear mother, 
to whom, of all other earthly creatures, you and I owe our first 
duties. But I have not loved you the less for not writing to you : 
on the contrary, I have been thinking of you with the greatest 
affection, and praying for you on my bended knees, night and 
morning, humbly begging of God that he would bless you with 
health and happiness, and make you an ornament to your sex, and 
a blessing to your parents. But we must not be like the man that 
prayed to Hercules to help his wagon out of the mud, and was 
too lazy to try to help himself: — no, we must be thoughtful ; try 
our very best to learn our books, and to be good ; and then if we 
call upon our Father in heaven, he will help us. I am very glad your 
Latin grammar is becoming easier to you. It will be more and 
more so, the more you give your whole mind to it. God has been 
very kind in blessing you with a sound understanding; and, it 
would be sinful in you to neglect such a great blessing, and 
suffer your mind to go to ruin, instead of improving it by study, 
and making it beautiful, as weW as useful, to yourself and others. 
It would be almost as bad as it would be for Uncle Cabell to be 
so lazy himself, and to suffer his laborers to be so lazy, as to let 
his rich low grounds run up all in weeds, instead of corn, and so 
have no bread to give his family, and let them all starve and die. 
Now your mind is as rich as Uncle Cabell's low grounds ; and, 
all that your mother and father ask of you, is, that you will not 
be so idle as to let it run to weeds ; but that you will be indus- 
trious and studious, and so your mind will bring a fine crop of 
fruits and (lowers. 

Suppose there was a nest full of beautiful young birds, so young 
that they could not fly and help themselves, and they were open- 
ing their little mouths and crying for something to eat and drink, 
and their parents would not bring them any thing, but were to let 



CHAP. XIX.] LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 325 

them cry on from morning till night, till they starved and died, 
would not they be very wicked parents .'' Now, your mind is this 
nest full of beautiful little singing birds ; much more beautiful 
and melodious than any canary birds in the world ; and there sits 
fancy, and reason, and memory, and judgment, — all with their little 
heads thrust forward out of the nest, and crying as hard as they 
can for something to eat and drink. Will you not love your father 
and mother for trying to feed them with books and learning, the 
only kind of meat and drink they love, and without which those 
sweet little songsters must, in a few years, hang their heads and 
die ? Nay, will you not do your very best to help your father and 
mother to feed them, that they may grow up, get a full suit of 
tine glossy feathers, and cheer the house with their songs.'' And, 
moreover, w^ould it not be very wrong to feed some of them 
only, and let the rest starve .'' You are very fond, when you get a 
new story book, of running through it as fast as you can, just 
for the sake of knowing what happened to this one, and that one ; 
in doing this, you are only feeding one of the four birds I have 
mentioned, — that is fancy, which, to be sure, is the loudest singer 
among them, and will please you most while you are young. But, 
while you are thus feeding and stuffing fancy, — reason, memory and 
judgment are starving ; and yet, by-and-bye, you will think their 
notes much softer and sweeter than those of fancy, although not 
so loud, and wild, and varied. Therefore, you ought to feed those 
other birds, too : they eat a great deal slower than fancy : they re- 
quire the grains to be pounded in a mortar before they can get 
any food from them ; that is, when you read a pretty story, you 
must not gallop over it as fast as you can, just to learn what hap- 
pened ; but, you must stop every now and then, and consider why 
one of the persons you are reading of is so much beloved, and 
another so much hated. This sort of consideration pounds the 
grains in a mortar, and feeds reason and judgment. Then you 
must determine that you will not forget that story, but that you 
will try to remember every part of it, that you may shape your 
own conduct by it, — doing those good actions which the story has 
told you will make people love you, and avoiding those evil ones 
which you find will make them hate you. This is feeding memory 
and judgment both at once. Memory, too, is remarkably fond of 
a tit-bit of Latin grammar ; and, though the food is hard to come 
VOL. 1—28 



326 THE BATTURE CASE. [1811. 



at, yet the sweet little bird must not starve. The rest of them could 
do nothing without her, for, if she was to die, they would never 
sing again, at least not sweetly. 

Your affectionate father, 

Wm. Wirt, 



We have seen that, almost from the first moments of Mr. Jef- 
ferson's acquaintance with Mr. Wirt, a friendly intercourse had 
grown up between them, which had gradually ripened into the 
most cordial esteem and confidence. It was this sentiment, on the 
part of Mr. Jetl'erson, which led him to employ his young friend 
in the prosecution of Burr. He subsequently engaged him as his 
private counsel in various matters which required legal advice. 
After his retirement from the presidency, he had more than once 
been annoyed by suits which were more properly the care of the 
Government, but in which attempts were made to hold him respon- 
sible, in his own person, for acts done in the course of his public 
administration. Of this character was the suit brought against him 
in 1810, by Mr. Edward Livingston, which was now pending for 
trial, in the Circuit Court of the United States, at Richm.ond. 
This case is well known to the legal profession as the Batture 
case, which, in its progress, occupied a considerable share of the 
public attention, and, not confined to the courts, produced a very 
learned and elaborate controversy between the two distinguished 
parties to the cause. 

New Orleans was the theatre of the great excitement to which 
the incidents belonging to this controversy had given rise. The 
new beach formed by the deposits of the Mississippi, upon every 
annual flood, had been claimed by the proprietors of the adjacent 
bank, as legal accretions to their own possessions. Mr. Livingston 
being one of these proprietors of valuable lots in the city, had as- 
serted his claim, in 1806 and 7, to new soil coming within this 
description of increase by alluvion. He had done this to the dis- 
content of many persons in New Orleans, who apprehended, from 
certain works constructed by him upon the beach, — or batture, as 
it was called, — serious injury to the harbor. The intervention of 
the General Government was demanded in the matter, upon the 
ground that the beaches and beds of rivers were under its special 



CHAP. XIX.] THE BATTURE CASE. 327 

protection. Great exasperation prevailed in the city against Mr. 
Livingston. Riots were threatened ; and the grand jury liad pre- 
sented the new structure on the beach as a nuisance. In response 
to the application to the government, Mr. Jefferson had directed 
the laborers, in the employ of Mr. Livingston, to be driven off the 
ground, which order was finally enforced by a posse coiniUitus. 
This was done in opposition to the judgment of a local Court 
which had decreed in favor of Mr. Livingston. 

The consequence of these proceedings was, as has been already 
stated, a suit against Mr. Jefferson for a trespass. Mr. Wirt, Mr. 
Hay and Mr. Tazewell, were employed as his counsel, and were 
furnished with full notes of the merits of the controversy. The 
case, however, never reached a discussion of the merits of the 
chief questions between the parties. It w^as dismissed after argu- 
ment, — Mr. Wickham appearing for the plaintiff, — upon the opin- 
ion of Judges Marshall and Tucker, that the Court in Virginia 
could not take cognizance of a trespass committed on lands in 
Louisiana. This sudden termination of the case seemed to be 
equally unsatisfactory to both parties, who had made such ample 
preparation for the main battle as not willingly to be reconciled 
to give it up. The controversy was therefore resumed with pen 
and ink, and a vast amount of learning, seasoned by a due admix- 
ture of sarcasm, wit and invective, was lavished upon the subject, 
very much to the edification of contentious riparian possessors 
and claimants of alluvial deposits forever hereafter. 

Contemporaneous with this proceeding, we have a correspon- 
dence between Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Wirt, upon a subject of more 
general interest, as connected with the political history of the 
past. The lapse of thirty-seven years has stript this correspon- 
dence of its private and confidential character, and may now be 
opened to the public without apprehension of unfriendly comment. 

Duane, the editor of the Aurora in Philadelphia, who had 
been a most effective supporter of Mr. Jeflerson's administration, 
had lost much ground with the republican party, by his assault upon 
Mr. Madison and Mr. Gallatin during the presidential canvass 
in which the former of these gentlemen had succeeded to the 
Chief Magistracy. The consequence of this imprudence was a 
sensible diminution of the means to sustain his paper. The 
government " organ," in those days, had not that secret mine of 



328 LETTER FROM MR. JEFFERSON. [18U. 

treasure whicli the experience of our time has found in the 
])atronage of the ruling party. Duane was in distress, and needed 
additional support. In this strait he applied to Mr. Jefferson, in 
the hope that, by his recommendation, the subscription list of the 
Aurora would be enlarged, and the republican party be induced to 
contribute what might be found necessary. How this application 
fared will be seen in the extracts from the few^ letters to which I 
have referred. 

FROM MR. JEFFERSON TO MR. WIRT. 

MoNTicELLo, March 30, 1811. 
De.\r Sir : 

Mr. Dabney Carr has written to you on the situation of the 
editor of the Aurora, and our desire to support him. 

That paper has unquestionably rendered incalculable services 
to republicanism through all its struggles with the federalists, and 
has been the rallying point for the orthodoxy of the whole Union. 
It was our comfort in the gloomiest days, and is still performing 
the office of a watchful sentinel. We should be ungrateful to 
desert him, and unf&ithful to our own interests to lose him. Still, 
I am sensible, and I hope others are so too, that one of his late 
attacks is as unfounded, as it is injurious to the republican cause. 
I mean that on Mr. Gallatin, than whom there is no truer man, 
and who, after the President, is the ark of our safety. 

I have thought it material that the editor should understand that 
that attack has no part in the motives for what we may do for 
him : that we do not, thereby, make ourselves partisans against 
Mr. Gallatin ; but while we differ from him on that subject, we 
retain a just sense of all his other services, and will not be wanting 
as far as we can aid him. 

For this purpose I have written him the enclosed answer to his 
letter, which I send for your perusal, on supposition that you 
concur in the sentiment, and would be unwillins: he should mis- 
construe the service you may be able to render him, as an 
encouragement to proceed in the mischievous undertaking of 
writing down Mr. Gallatin. Be so good as to return the paper 
when read ; and to bo assured of my sincere and constant 
aUachmcnt and res])ect. 

Thomas Jefferson. 



CHAP XIX.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. 329 



TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, April 10, 1811. 
Dear Sir : 

I have your favors by the last mail, and will attend to them with 
much pleasure. 

If any thing could be done for Colonel D. here, it Avould be by 
shewing the copy of your letter to him. I shall retain it for 
another mail, that I may receive your directions as to making use 
of it or not. You may rely upon it that D's name has no magic 
in it here. He is considered as the foe of Mr. Madison ; and the 
republicans here have no sympathy with any man who carries 
opposition colors, whether federalist, qiiid or tertium quid. 

The distinction which you make between the past fidelity and 
present aberration of the Aurora, is just, liberal and magnanimous; 
and the sentiment might, perhaps, be spread by the contagion of 
your letter. I have made one experiment, to-day, without it. The 
answer was, that D. could not want friends, since his alliance with 
the S s. 

By the next mail, I shall have satisfied myself conclusively as 
to the possibility of my doing anything without the aid of your 
letter. 

With respectful affection. 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. AVirt. 

TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, April 17, 1811. 
Dear Sir : 

******* 

The copy of your letter to D. has been shown to one person 

only 

* * * With the use of that letter, some- 

thing important might be done for D. in spite of the adverse spirit 
or, at least, distrust which the factious and equivocal character of 
his paper has lately excited — equivocal in relation to Mr. Madi- 
son. But his three or four last papers contain such insulting para- 
graphs in relation to Mr. Madison, that I think it very dubious 
VOL. 1—28* 



330 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. [1811. 

whether even your letter would not be too late, had I been per- 
mitted to show it. 

The paper is regarded, now, as an opposition one. In what 
other light can it be regarded, when it exhibits the President as 
being so perfectly the tool of Mr. Gallatin, as to have descended 
from the ground of a gentleman in relation to Mr. S., and played 
him " a shabby Genevan trick } " 

* ****** 

Can charity or magnanimity require us longer to adhere to this 
man.-* Can he consider it as persecution to desert him, after he 
has abandoned his cause, the people and the President, and has 
begun to strain every nerve to bring them into contempt } I think 
he has for some time required a lesson on the subject of modesty, 
which the people will now give. 

Every gentleman who mentions this subject in my hearing, 
speaks with the warmest resentment against D. Believe me, it is 
impossible to do any thing for him here now ; and any further 
attempt would only disable me from rendering any service to the 
cause hereafter. It is the impracticability of serving him pro- 
duced by his own conduct, as well as the violation I feel it 
would be of my sentiments for Mr. Madison, that prevent me from 
proceeding. * * * * I return, here- 

with, the copy of Mr. D's letter to you, and yours to him ; and 
beg you to be assured of my respectful and affectionate devotion. 

Wm. Wirt. 

thomas jefferson to william wirt. 

' MoNTicELLO, May 3, 1811. 

Dear Sir: 

The interest you were so kind as to take, at my request, in the 
case of Duane, and the communication to you of my first letter to 
him, entitles you to a communication of the second, which will 
probably be the last. I have ventured to quote your letter in it, 
without giving your name, and even softening some of its ex- 
pressions respecting him. It is possible Uuane may be reclaimed 
as to Mr. Madison — but, as to Mr. Gallatin, I despair of it. That 
enmity took its rise from a suspicion that Mr. Gallatin interested 



CHAP. XIX.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. 331 



himself in the election of their Governor, against the views of 
Duane and his friends. I do not believe Mr. Gallatin meddled in 
it. I was in conversation with him nearly every day during the 
contest, and I never heard him express any bias in the case. The 
ostensible grounds of the attack on Mr. Gallatin are all either 
false or futile. 

******* 
But they say he was hostile to me. This is false. I was in- 
debted to nobody for more cordial aid than to Mr. Gallatin; nor 
could any man more solicitously interest himself in behalf of 
another than he did of myself. His conversations with Erskine are 
objected as meddling out of his department. Why then do they 
not object to Mr. Smith's with Rose .? The whole nearly of that 
negotiation, as far as it was transacted verbally, was by Mr. 
Smith. The business w^as in this way, explained informally ; and, 
on understandings thus obtained, Mr. Madison and myself shaped 
our formal proceedings. In fact, the harmony among us was so 
perfect, that whatever instrument appeared most likely to effect 
the object was always used without jealousy. Mr. Smith happened 
to catch Mr. Rose's favor and confidence at once. We perceived 
that Rose would open himself more frankly to him than to Mr. 
Madison, and we, therefore, made him the medium of obtaining 
an understanding of Mr. Rose. 

Mr. Gallatin's support of the Bank has, I believe, been disap- 
proved by many. He was not in Congress when that was estab- 
lished, and, therefore, had never committed himself publicly on 
the constitutionality of that institution, nor do I recollect ever to 
have heard him declare himself on it. I know he derived immense 
convenience from it, because they gave the effect of ubiquity to 
his money wherever deposited. Money in New Orleans or Maine 
was, at his command and by their agency, transformed in an in- 
stant into money in London, in Paris, Amsterdam or Canton. He 
was therefore cordial to the Bank. I often pressed him to divide 
the public deposits among all the respectable banks, being indig- 
nant myself at the open hostility of that institution to a govern- 
ment on whose treasures they were fattening. But his repugnance 
to it prevented my persisting. And, if he was in favor of the 
Bank — what is the amount of that crime or error in which he had 
a majority, save one, in each House of Congress as participators ? 



332 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. [1811. 



Yet, on these facts endeavors are made to drive from the adminis- 
tration the ablest man, except the President, who ever was in it, 
and to beat down the President himself, because he is unwilling to 
part with so able a counsellor. 1 believe Duane to be a very 
honest man, and sincerely republican ; but his passions are stronger 
than his prudence, and his personal as well as general antipathies 
render him very intolerant. These traits lead him astray, and 
require his readers — even those who value him for his steady sup- 
port of the republican cause, to be on their guard against his 
occasional aberrations. He is eager for war against England, — 
hence his abuse of the two last Congresses. But the people wish 
for peace. The re-election of the same men prove it; and, in- 
deed, war against Bedlam would be just as rational as agaiftst 
Europe, in its present condition of total demoralization. When 
peace becomes more losing than war, we may prefer the latter 
on principles of pecuniary calculation. But for us to attempt a 
w^ar to reform all Europe, and bring them back to principles of 
morality and a respect for equal rights of nations, would show us 
to be only maniacs of another character. We should, indeed, 
have the merit of the good intentions, as well as the folly, of the 

hero of La Mancha. But I am getting beyond the object of 

my letter, and will, therefore, here close it, with assurances of 
my great esteem and respect. 

Th. Jefferson. 



CHAPTER XX. 

1812 — 1813. 

THE WAR. — ITS EXCITEMENTS.— WIRT DECLINES A COMMISSION IN THE 
ARMY.— VOLUNTEER SOLDIERY LIFE OF HENRY.— BURNING OF THE RICH- 
MOND THEATRE GOVERNOR SMITH.— CARR APPOINTED CHANCELLOR, AND 

REMOVES TO WINCHESTER LETTERS TO HIM — VV. ATTEMPTS TO WRITE 

A CO.MEDY. — JUDGE TUCKER'S OPINION OF THE INFLUENCE OF SUCH 

LITERATURE ON PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER DIFFICULTY OF COMEDY.— 

PROFESSIONAL DIGNITY RICHMOND BAR ANECDOTE OF A TRIAL BE- 
TWEEN WICKHAM AND HAY.— EPIGRAM WARDEN LETTER TO CARR.— 

TIRED OF THE OLD BACHELOR. — BIOGRAPHY. — LETTER FRO.M JUDGE 
TUCKER ON THIS SUBJECT.— INCIDENTS OF THE WAR.— BRITISH ASCEND 

TO CITY POINT WIRT RAISES A CORPS OF FLYING ARTILLERY.— LET'J'ER 

TO MRS. W— TO DABNEY CARR GILMER, A STUDENT OF LAW.— LETTER 

OF ADVICE TO HIM. 

We have now approached a period of great public concern — 
the war of 1812. They who remember the interest which the 
events of that period excited, will not need to be told that it per- 
vaded every portion of the country and furnished an absorbing 
topic for every social circle. Along the Atlantic border, this 
interest was increased by continual alarms produced by the enemy, 
whose squadrons hovered upon the coast and not unfrcquently 
made descents upon exposed or unprotected points. Although the 
Canada frontier was the scene of the severest conflicts, and was 
therefore brought to realize the worst extremes of war, there was 
still enough of threatened and actual collision upon the bays and 
rivers of the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico, to keep all that 
region in a state of anxious outlook and busy preparation. The 
blockade of this coast, in general loosely and inadequately main- 
tained, was rigidly enforced at two points, by the presence of 
ships of war in the Delaware and Chesapeake. The cities of 
Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk, and Richmond were thus ad- 
monished of impending danger, and were consequently ever upon 
the alert. The frigate Constellation lay at Norfolk, and more 
than one effort was made by Admiral Warren to effect her 
capture. One of these efforts in June, 1813, was the assault of 



334 THE WAR. [1812— 1S13. 

Craney Island, where tlie British forces were defeated by the 
Virginia militia, aided by the seamen of the Constellation, under 
the command of Commodore Stewart. The villag^e of Hampton 
was afterwards attacked by the British and taken, and the most 
disgraceful barbarities practised upon the inhabitants ; barbarities 
which were the more atrocious, as they were directed, in some 
notable cases, against women wiio were forced to submit to the 
most shocking outrages from a licentious soldiery. The par- 
ticulars of this execrable violation of the rules of civilized 
warfare are yet fresh in the memory of that region, and obtained, 
at the time, a prominent notoriety amongst the most revolting 
events of the war. 

It may be imagined that such incidents aroused a universal 
feeling of anxiety every where over the district within the 
supposed reach of the power of the squadron, and kept the 
people of the country in a constant state of feverish expectation 
of the probability of fresh encounters. The militia of the interior 
were always prepared for a summons to the coast; volunteer 
companies were every where formed ; and the stir and show and 
apparatus of war became the most familiar objects to all classes 
of the population. 

With all the disquietude and uneasy apprehension which 
belonged to such a state of things, tliere was also a certain degree 
of intense and pleasant excitement, which was greatly relished 
by the younger and more enterprising portions of the community. 
The preparations for camp life and the occasional experience of 
it ; the expectation of actual service w^hich was ever present to 
tliose selected for duty ; the busy activity of preparation ; the 
martial aspect of every society ; the military array seen in every 
town ; the music, the banners, the daily parade, the rapid muster 
and equipment of men ; the frequent marching of detachments to 
threatened points; the performance of garrison duty, the brother- 
hood and companionship of military life ; its adventures, its stories, 
its comic as well as serious incidents ; all this, under the pleasant 
skies of a mild season of the year, without the discomforts and 
suflerings of a severe campaign, — not far from home, and conse- 
quently within the reach of abundant food and shelter, — gave a 
kind of sunshiny holiday attraction to the period, which, as I have 



CHAP. XX.] DECLINES THE REGULAR SERVICE. 335 

remarked, rendered the war, to the great mass of those who were 
most familiar with these scenes, rather a pleasant change from 
the monotony of ordinary quiet life. 

Richmond w^as one of the centres of this excitement; near 
enough to be threatened with invasion, — yet sulRciently remote to 
be guarded against sudden surprise. During the two years of the 
war, therefore, she may be said, with some exceptions, to have 
found in the agitation of the public events, an agreeable supply of 
novelty to feed that appetite for news which was scarcely less char- 
acteristic of the gossiping Athenians in the days of Pericles, than 
of our own people in the time to which I have referred, — which, 
indeed, has sufiered no abatement since. 

Wirt was, at this time, at the head of his profession, enjoying 
a full share of its employment and emoluments. The war was 
now at his door. The military ardor of 1807, which was strong 
enough then to take him, if occasion offered, to Canada, was now 
somewhat tempered by the monitions of professional and domestic 
duties. The idea of the legion was not revived : Canada was 
committed to other hands ; and all those dreams of martial glory, 
which had once captivated his younger imagination, were sobered 
into a sensible resolve to do his duty at home, as a citizen soldier, 
when called upon, and to transfer his aspirations after warlike 
renown, to those whom fortune had not yet favored with a better 
reputation. 

Some intimation was given to Mr. Madison, by a friend, that 
Wirt would still accept a commission in the army. This led him 
to write to the President a letter, declining such an appointment, — 
in which he stated, that " however strong the desire to enter the 
service of the country actively, the situation of his private atfairs 
would not permit it. Circumstanced as he was, such a step would 
be a sacrifice, not called for by the posture of the country, and 
wholly incompatible with his duties to his family." 

Thus renouncing a purpose which he had, a few years before, 
cherished with so much zeal, he was now content to take his part 
in the scenes around him, in whatever manner he might be able to 
make himself useful. A portion of the British squadron had, at 
one time in 1813, ascended the James River as high as City Point, 
and thereby aroused the Capital to a vivid apprehension of an 
attack. At this juncture, Wirt raised a corps of flying artillery, 



336 THE FLYING ARTILLERY. 



[1S12— 1613. 



which, consisting- of the choicest material of the country, was, 
under his command, brought into an excellent state of discipline 
and efficiency — alas ! without an opportunity, (as we may say, 
without disparagement, it fortunately turned out,) to demonstrate 
their own or their leader's prowess before the enemy. Richmond 
survived the many attacks which were threatened without being 
made ; and was favored with the most satisfactory opportunities, 
short of bloodshed, to evince her patriotism and public spirit. 
Thus be it ever in all future wars ! 

The valor of our volunteer soldiery, which has latterly worked 
such miracles upon the bloody fields of Mexico, was not less con- 
fided in in the war of 1812, though exposed, at that time, to a 
much severer probation, before the veteran soldiers of Welling- 
ton. That the exploits of the volunteers of that day were not so 
brilliant as those of the latter period, we may attribute, not less to 
the character of the army itself, than to that of the enemy each 
has had to encounter. The levies of 1812 were gathered from 
the general mass of the population, more actuated by the common 
sense of duty, in the crisis, than by any predilection for military 
adventure. They included, therefore, citizens of all ranks and 
pursuits, taken from the very midst of their families and business, 
with all the dependencies and concerns of domestic life yet 
strongly soliciting their care and protection. They repaired to 
the field, not from choice so much as from a sense of eminent ne- 
cessity exacting the temporary sacrifice of their time and service. 
The volunteers of Mexico, on the contrary, were the picked men 
of the nation, who, devoting themselves to a service more than a 
thousand miles from home, went to it under the strong impulse of 
adventure and love of martial life. They consisted of the young, 
(he ardent and the brave, who, for the time, renounced all domes- 
tic pursuits, and marched to the field, animated by the hope of 
distinction and disenthralled from all civil cares and engagements. 
Thus fortified by resolve, stimulated by love of the profession, 
cheered by loud acclamations of friends, unimpeded by domestic 
solicitude, and filled with the ardor and courage of the na- 
tional character, they more resemble the chivalry which, a few 
centuries ago, assembled around Gonsalvo de Cordova, or Gaston 
de Foix, in their descents upon the fields of Italy, than they do 
any army of modern times. The skill, concert, impetuous valor 



CHAP. XX.J LIFE OF HENRY. 337 

and persevering labor of their assaults, will be the theme of com- 
mendation from military critics in centuries to come ; whilst the 
brilliancy of their victories over such disproportioned numbers, 
and the rapidity of their conquest of the strongholds of Mexico, 
will be regarded as the marvels of the age in which they were 
achieved. 

The contests of the regular army on the Canada frontier, in the 
war of 1812, will suffer nothing in the comparison with those of 
the latter period. The laurels won by the youthful General at 
Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, will retain a verdure as fresh as 
those which the same chief has plucked in his elder day, upon the 
plains of Mexico. 

Wirt's professional engagements had now so multiplied upon 
his hands as nearly to engross all his time, and the reputation fol- 
lowing his success seems to have so far gratified his ambition, as, 
in a great degree to suspend his literary projects or, at least, to 
restrict them to few and desultory efforts. The Old Bachelor, 
the greater part of which had been completed in the year 1811, 
slumbered through all the following year, and, after a slight en- 
deavor towards a revival, was finally disposed of in 1813. The 
Life of Patrick Henry, too, was found to be an enterprise of less 
promise than, at first, it seemed. We shall have occasion here- 
after to notice the embarrassments of this task, and how weary 
the author became of it. 

In a letter from Mr. Jefferson to him upon this subject, the 
former expresses a difHculty in regard to the collection and the 
publication of facts regarding Henry, which Wirt had already felt. 
In answer to this letter Wirt remarks — " I despair of the subject. 
It has been continually sinking under me. The truth perhaps, 
cannot be prudently published by me during my life. I propose, 
at present, to prepare it, and leave the manuscript with my family. 
I still think it a useful subject, and one which may be advan- 
tageously wrought, not only into lessons on eloquence, but on the 
superiority of solid and practical parts over the transient and 
gaudy show of occasion. I wish only it had been convenient to 
you to enable me to illustrate and adorn my theme by a short 
portrait of Mr. Henry's most prominent competitors." 

I may notice here, as some reference to the event will be made 
in the course of this narrative, that Richmond had, in the last 
VOL. 1—29 



338 BURNING OF THE THEATRE. [1812-1813. 



week of the year 1811 — the day after Christmas — been visited 
by a calamity of overwhelming horror, in the burning of the The- 
atre, during a performance which had attracted to the house an 
unusual crowd of the most cherished members of the society of 
the city. Between sixty and a hundred persons were burnt up in 
the conflagration. Amongst these were the Governor of the State 
George W. Smith, Mr. Venable the President of the Bank of 
Virginia, Mr. Botts the gentleman whom we have seen engaged 
as one of the counsel of Burr ; the wife of this gentleman and 
his niece, with many other ladies most endeared to the community 
of Richmond — young and aged — were also whelmed in this awful 
catastrophe. Richmond was shrouded in mourning, with scarce a 
family in it that had not suffered some bereavement. So melan- 
choly a disaster, we may suppose, would leave its traces upon the 
character of the city for many years. It was long before Rich- 
mond resumed that cheerful and careless tone of social enjoyment 
for which it was previously distinguished.* 

The ensuing letters unfold some interesting particulars of per- 
sonal history, making occasional references to the incidents of the 
war, and presenting some few evidences of the literary aspirations, 
rather than labors, of the writer. They furnish besides, agreeable 
pictures of the contentment and cheerfulness which attend a pros- 
perous life. 

The nomination of Judge Carr to the Bench, by the Governor 
and Council, required the ratification of the Legislature. In this 

• I find a manuscript reference to this sad event, amongst the papers of Mr. Wirt, 
in which he has detailed some of the particulars attending the death of the Gov- 
ernor. I extract a few passages—" On the fatal night of his death," says this re- 
cord, " he hud taken his wife and one of his sons, about nine or ten years old, to 
the play. At the cry of fire he led Mrs. Smith into the hox lobby ; and recollecting 
that he had left his little son behind in the box, he told her to remain there until he 
stepped back for the boy. It was her wish to do so, but the pressure of the crowd 
bore her away. When the Governor returned, his wife was not to be seen. He 
hastened down with the boy, and having placed him in safety on the outside of the 
door, returned, it is supposed, to look for his wife. In the meantime, she after 
having been pressed to and fro, by the waving motion of the multitude, was fortu- 
nately driven near a window, just at the time when the word was given to ' break 
down the windows' — and through this, by a leap of twelve or fifteen feet, she made 
her escape without other injury than a sprained [ankle, and the bruises which she 
received from the pressure of the crowd. Her husband, unable to find her, perished 
in the generous and pious pursuit." 



CHAP. XX.] CARR APPOINTED CHANCELLLOR. 339 

proceeding, in the session of 1812, an opposition was got up against 
the Judge sufliciently strong to defeat liim. During tlie year in 
which he had served on the Bench, it was universally admitted 
that entire satisfaction was given to the puhlic — that, in fact, the 
office was administered with distinguished ability. The oppo- 
sition is said to have arisen out of objections of a purely local 
character, which touched what was supposed to be the claims of 
other persons. It is said that acknowledging the Judge's merits, 
and with a special purpose to retain him in the Judiciary, the Le- 
gislature created a new Chancery district, of which Winchester 
was the seat of justice, and bestowed the appointment to it upon 
him. This appointment he promptly accepted. It compelled him 
to change his residence from Charlottesville to Winchester. The 
change seems to have gone hard with him for some time. To one 
of his genial temper and love of domestic associations, such a 
breaking up of settled habits and separation from familiar faces, 
was rather a severe tax upon his affections. This will explain the 
occasion of the next letter. 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Montevideo, Buckingham Co., Nov. 12, 1812. 
Mv Dear Friend : 

Cabell and myself went down at the beginning of the month to 
attend the Court of Appeals, where, among a large packet of other 
letters, I found your affecting favor from Winchester, which I 
read to him. As I had been all the summer absent from Rich- 
mond, and had then but a kw days to stay with the Court of Ap- 
peals, for whom I had also to prepare my statements, &,c., I could 
find no time to answer you from that city : — to atone for it I 
seize the first hour of composure here, to commune with you. 

I need not tell you that I enter fully into your situation and 
feelings/, yet I, who have been torn so often from neighborhoods 
and friends, and forced to make new settlements among strangers, 
'should not have felt the change on my own account, so acutely. 
I know, experimentally, that the first pangs, on these occasions, 
are all that we have to endure. Nature soon accommodates us to 
every change, A soft and not unpleasing melancholy, from a 



340 LETTERS TO CARR. 



[1812—1813. 



remembrance of the past, now and then recurs in the pauses of 
business and social intercourse ; but from circumstances and sit- 
uations apparently the most unpromising and hopeless, the great 
vis medicalrix nalurcc enables us to extract not merely consolation, 
but amusement and happiness. We become acquainted with new 
characters whose oddities divert us ; whose intellectual adroitness 
and resources interest and instruct us ; whose amiable qualities 
and kind offers warm and attach our hearts. A difference of man- 
ners may keep us asunder for a time, like the negative and posi- 
tive electricity of bodies differently charged, but intercourse pro- 
duces an assimilation, and instead of repelling, we begin mutually 
to attract ; or if we neither acquire the manners of those among 
whom we live, nor communicate our own to them, yet their pecu- 
liarities soon become so familiar to us, that we are not conscious 
of them, but look at once through them to the heart and mind of 
the person. 

****** 

Now, why can we not put a little philosophical force upon 
ourselves, and anticipate at once those results which we are sure 
nature will ultimately bring about .'' By this course, we shall avoid 
the painful interval between the first repugnance, and the accom- 
modation of habit. For example, if, giving way to this repug- 
nance, we hold off, shy and aloof, we shall beget equal shyness on 
the other hand, and the interval of indifference may be a very long 
one, — if it does not end in a fixed and mutual aversion. If, on the 
other hand, in instances in which established character, or our 
own judgment of the individual warrants it, we at once break 
through our prejudices and force a familiarity and intimacy, we 
generate those same qualities in strangers towards ourselves, who 
have also their prejudices against us to vanquish, and thus, like 
Scott's stag, "at one brave bound the copse we clear," &c. &c., — 
" which &c. hath much learning in it." 

Why may you not form new friendships there .'' I must be 
candid enough to tell you that I feel some jealousy at this sug- 
gestion, myself, and do not want you to love any new friend quite 
so well as I hope you do me, and as I certainly do you. It is my 
magnanimity, therefore, or the nobler side of my friendship, that 
suggests this consolation to you for those friends from whom you 
have been separated. Against these suggestions, you may urge 



CHAP. XX.] LETTERS TO CARR. 341 

the common opinion that ardent friendship cannot be formed at 
your advanced state of life. To be sure, / cannot reason on this 
point experimentally — " you must go to some one older than me." 
But then, 1 am informed by books, of men nearly as old as your- 
self, who have formed the warmest friendships : for example, 
there was Walsh, who at the age of seventy contracted a most 
vehement friendship for Alexander Pope, then only sixteen years 
of age, which lasted through life, that is through Walsh's life. 
And Pope himself, when sixty, contracted a similar friendship for 
Warburton. Examples might be easily multiplied to shew the 
physical possibility of such friendship. I have, myself, formed 
the most sincere and disinterested friendship for at least two men, 
old enough to treble my years; and I am convinced that I shall 
have for Frank Gilmer, (who you know is a member of my family 
now,) as warm a friendship as if he were my brother. 

This disparity of age seems to be necessary to bring about that 
equality which in some way or other, must be the basis of friend- 
sliip. Where equality of years is wanting, the partnership must 
be rendered equal in some other way. For instance, one brings 
youth and genius into the fund; the other, age and character. 
Perhaps a better, though a less artificial solution of it is, that the 
one or the other must be inexperienced and credulous ; the other, 
conscious of his own purity. 

Two old men do not form these friendships : reciprocally aware 
of the fallacious exterior of characters, they cannot trust each 
other. 

Fortunately for you, the tooth-ache has stopped this lecture. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Carr did not receive this letter until it was brought to him 
enclosed in the following : 



VOL. 1—29* 



342 LETTERS TO CARR. [1S12— 1813. 



TO JCDGE CARR. 

Richmond, March 31, 1813. 
Very well, sir; — consume* and abuse me as much as you please. 
Throw my letter away, and say that I have delayed writing till 
all the grace of the act is gone ; that, now you have become ac- 
quainted in Winchester and happy in your new acquaintance, so 
as no longer to require the cheering letters of your old fiiends, I, 
for the first time, begin to write; that, when you wished me to 
write, I would not ; and that when you no longer wish me to write, 
or care for my writing, I pester you with my letters ; that I have 
played by you, as a friend, pretty much such a part as Johnson 
says Chesterfield played by him as a patron : " Is not a patron, 
my lord, one who sees his client struggling in water above his 
depth, without going to his relief; and when he has reached the 
shore, incumbers him with his needless assistance?" This is the 
thought, — I pretend not to quote his words. Well ; have you got 
cool .'' Now read the enclosed, which I do assure you was 
written when and where it professes. You see, then, how well in- 
clined I was, to have done my duty promptly towards you ; but 
* * * * * the necessity of my hurrying down to 
Richmond, where the Federal Court, and the Court of Appeals 
were sitting together, — the manner in which I have been kept un- 
der the lash, by the Court of Appeals, until about ten days ago, — 
the circumstance of my being in the nineteenth regiment, which 
has been called on duty and placed on the war establishment, — not 
having been discharged until last Saturday, — and the anxieties 
generated by the vicinity of the British; the uncertainty of their 
plans, and the defenceless condition of the State have, in succes- 
sion, held me " in durance vile," unharmonising me for that sweet 
correspondence with you which I so much enjoy, in peace and 
ease. Come, come ; let your choler give way ; let your crest 
fall ; let the angry blood in your cheeks retire ; let your cheeks, 
themselves, subside; and do not look quite so much like Jupiter 
Tonans, when he " injlat amhas huccasy So, so. Now we are 

• There are several references in the letters to thia phrase of Carr's, which seems 
to have been the limit to wliich hid kind nature would allow him to go, in the way 
of imprecation. 



CHAP. XX.] WRITES A COMEDY. 343 



as we were, and I will mend my pen. You know the Scotch- 
man, under similar circumstances, cried " halt a little, while I 
tak' a wee pickle o' sneeshing," 

Sir John Borlase Warren, certainly mollilcr manus imposuil^ for 
which I thank him. The more fool he, the more fortunate we. 
He mii,dit, with the three thousand marines, which he is said to be 
able to detach from his ships without weakening their defence too 
much, have battered and burnt down our cities of Norfolk and 
Richmond, have plundered our banks and demolished our armory 
and the archives of the nation. He has waited so long, that now 
we do not fear him; while we, by no means, feel ourselves so 
secure as to lay aside our caution. 

******* 

The Old Bachelor is in the bookbinder's hands, at Baltimore, 
and is waiting only for a ^ew additional numbers, which I have 
not yet had time to scribble ; so, that you see, we are likely " to 
float together doicn the gutter of time,'''' as Sterne says. 

Did you never see two or three tobacco worms swept along by 
the little torrent produced by a sudden shower of rain .^ — swept 
along, with all their treasures, and crawling out, half drowned, 
twenty or thirty yards below.' Shall our book have a longer 
race, or we a more honorable catastrophe ? 

Now, sir, your private ear. I have a sentimental drama {la 
comedie larmoyanle,) nearly finished, which will be quite finished 
this spring, or early in tlie summer. I think tolerably well of it. 
Green and Twaits, who saw three acts of it in the crude, first 
draught, augured favorably of it. Judge Tucker, the only other 
person who has seen it, declared himself highly gratified by the 
perusal. 

Tlie players are anxious to get it from me. I had promised to 
give it, when finished, to Green's daughter who, poor girl, pe- 
rished in the theatre. But, before it leaves my possession, I am 
determined to submit it, when completed, to you and to be de- 
cided by your judgment entirely as to its fate, because I know 
you love me too well either to flatter or spare me, where my 
character for authorship is concerned. 

I want to know your opinion now, whether, if the work itself 
be good, the circumstance of its being a play is likely to do me 
any injury with the world, either as a man of business or as a 



344 LETTER FROM JUDGE TUCKER. [1812— ISIS. 



man pretending to any dignity of character ? On this point, I am 
dubious. For example; — how would it act on the character of 
such men as Jefferson or Madison or Monroe or Marshall or 
Tazewell, to have it known of them that they had been engaged 
in so light and idle a business as writing a play? Will you 
weigh this question thoroughly? At one moment, I think it 
would let them down ; at another, that it would give spirit and 
relief to the greatness of their characters ; that is, supposing the 
play to have been a very good one. 

Talking of authorship, what if I do hold my head high? 
" Tut — a boy ! — Poh, a boy! — pshaw, a mere boy !" So no more. 

Our love to you all, 

Wm. Wirt. 

We have not Judge Carr's answer to the questions propounded 
in the last clause of this letter ; but, from the correspondence with 
Judge Tucker, to whom the same questions seem to have been 
addressed — (the letter from Wirt to him has not been preserved)— 
I am enabled to present my reader with a reply quite worthy of 
preservation : 

" You ask," says the Judge, " how far a discovery that you 
have entered the dramatic lists may affect your professional 
character. Belles-lettres and the Muses have been too little 
cultivated in America, or cultivated with too little success by 
their votaries to enable us to judge. Trumbull, the author of 
McFingal, was, I think, a lawyer. That poem rather raised the 
opinion of his talents. It is entitled, in my opinion, to the first 
place in estimating the American talent for poetry. Dwight's 
'Conquest of Canaan' seems to have advanced him, in his own 
quarter of the Union, at least. He was young when he wrote it, 
and he now fills the papal chair of taste and erudition, as well as 
genius and religion, in New England. Humphreys, the aid of 
Washington, ventured to display his poetical talent, almost as soon 
as the war was ended. His pieces were well received ; and he 
has been a foreign minister, or something of the sort. Barlow 
has come forth in epic poetry, borrowing from Tasso, Milton, and 
the author of The Lusiad. His character, I think, has not been 
advanced by it ; yet, we now see him as an Envoy abroad. 



CHAP. XX.] INFLUENCE OF LITERARY REPUTATION. 345 

Should he fail in his embassy, I shall not be surprised to hear it 
said, it might have been predicted from his ])oem. Burke was 
too little known and too little reputed for his Bethlehem Gabor 
(I believe that was the name of his play.) either to raise or lower 
him. These are all the instances that occur to me where the 
Muses have been wooed in America by persons of any profes- 
sional standing. My own apprehension is, that a taste for the 
belles-lettres, including, under that description, dramatic poetry 
as well as all others is very low in America generally. That 
even though any such production should please for the moment, 
or continue to please a little longer than a moment, it does not 
constitute any thing estimable in the public eye, nor advance the 
author in the public estimation, but may have the contrary effect. 
To apply this to a man of any profession, if the author be a 
person who has inspired an exalted opinion of his talents, and the 
poem be given to the world in such a manner as to appear merely 
as ajeu d^esprit, the effusion of a leisure moment, and without any 
view to profit or emolument, or as an offering at the shrine of 
party, — I think, in such a case, the public would regard it favor- 
ably, and as an evidence of a variety of genius and talent capable 
of embellishment beyond the professional walk. If there be 
nothing in the composition itself below the standard of the 
previous public opinion of the author's talents, it will be not only 
well received, but will advance him in the general estimation as a 
man of happy genius. Such a man will, like Sheridan, win the 
approbation of those who have taste to- admire ; and those who 
■want it, will pretend to admire. He, therefore, runs but little 
risk." 

These are the opinions of a competent critic in 1812. We 
may smile at the sober earnestness of the question and the gravity 
of the answer. That this should be even a moot point at that 
day, would seem to argue that, as yet, there was no literary 
public in the United States ; at least, no adequate appreciation of 
the value of literary talent. That Doctor Johnson might write a 
tragedy, or Canning delight in witty doggrel, and not lose caste in 
church or state, we may infer, was a problem to excite the special 
wonder of the anxious literary adventurers of tlie generation of 
1812. We have seen that AVirt was not to be baulked in the 
career of his humor by these doubts ; for he had already perpe- 



346 THE COMEDY. [1812—1813 

trated some glaring enormities in prose, and was now actually- 
meditating a comedy. This comedy, which it appears he was 
some two years at work upon, still survives amongst his manu- 
scripts. I find various approbatory comments upon it in the 
letters of his friends at this period, — especially in those from 
Judge Tucker. It was called " The Path of Pleasure," but was 
never published nor played, — from a secret consciousness, I 
would infer, in the writer, that it might not safely pass the ordeal 
of public judgment. Wirt was a better critic than his friends; 
and most likely, upon deliberate review, after the fervor of com- 
position had subsided, came to a determination not to incur the 
hazard of that disapproval which, in the matter of a theatrical 
exhibition, is proverbially the most painful of all to which an 
author can be exposed. Whatever ground there may be to 
question how far professional success may be able to stand with 
the repute of elegant scholarship, there can be little room for 
debate upon the point that no professional man may very safely 
commit his reputation to the ordeal of facing the authorship of a 
play that has been damned. I do not say that this would have 
been the fate of the Path of Pleasure, if it had been submitted to 
the trial ; but public judgment is very uncertain, and Wirt himself 
does not seem to have had confidence enough in his production to 
be willing to challenge a sentence. Dramatic writing is, of all 
literary composition, the most difficult, and a good comedy the 
liighest product in this art. We have a dozen respectable 
tragedies for one comedy of the same grade. To paint character 
by dialogue, with the requisite brevity, wit, and adaptation to the 
story, which comedy requires ; to avoid exaggeration and carica- 
ture, on one hand, and tame, insipid portraiture on the other ; to 
invent a plot which shall have the requisite variety of incident 
to give it interest, and yet to evolve it without obscurity or 
confusion, and to carry it along in the conversation and action to 
which the stage limits the author, require a kind and degree of 
talent which is, by no means, necessarily, nor even ordinarily, 
associated with the powers of the most accomplished writers, or 
speakers. Even poets, and the most skilful novelists, — those who 
have been most conspicuous for the force, nature and vivacity of 
their dialogue, — have failed to produce good comedy. Moore 
and Scott are signal illustrations of this fact, and we might add 



CHAP. XX.] DRAMATIC LITERATURE. 347 

many others well known to the reader. Whilst it is equally 
capable of proof that the best dramatic writers, and especially in 
the department of comedy, have attained to no remarkable dis- 
tinction in what we might suppose to he the cognate and congenial 
departments of literature. 

That Wirt was restrained by no false notion of dignity from 
this essay in the dramatic field, we may well believe from all that 
we have seen of his character. That the public was, at that 
day, absurdly prejudiced upon this question of the gravity and 
decorum of professional life, is probable enough. It has been often 
remarked by foreigners that in all externals, at least, ours are a 
grave and even a saturnine people : that there is a certain amount 
of make-believe and constrained show of what is considered the 
propriety of place and vocation, apparent in the deportment of 
our people, — giving to them a thoughtful and reserved demeanor in 
society, very unlike the free and careless undress of social life in 
Europe. A secretary of state or a counsellor at law may hardly 
play at leap-frog with us, without finding hands and eyes upturned 
at such tomfoolery, and some severe comments touching dignity 
and its concomitants ; whilst European society would scarce 
think it worth a comment, except in the way of kindly illustration 
of the jocund temper which not even the cares of state or the hard 
study of legal quiddities could subdue. Curran at the head of 
the Monks of the Screw, and Jeffreys fomenting the waggeries 
of the Scotch bar, or Napoleon playing a part in private theatri- 
cals, are not even yet quite within the conception of the American 
public and its notions of "dignity." Still less so was it in 1812. 

Richmond, perhaps, is entitled to be regarded as less affected 
by this national quality than most other portions of the country. 
The community of that city have been rather famous for good 
fellowship, and, — what may be said in their commendation, — of a 
very fair toleration of the eccentricities which belong to the 
practical exemplification of the adage, "dulce est desipere in loco." 
The memories of their private associations, and especially at the 
bar, are rich with good stories and exhibitions of bonhommie 
that have provoked many a laugh without either impairing the 
" dignity " of the actors, or incurring the rebuke of the rigidly- 
proper who there, as well as elsewhere, have found their abode. 
Amongst these memories, the present generation recount, with an 



348 AN EPIGRAM. [1812— 181S. 

affectionate particularity, the many gambols of the late Chief 
Justice — one of the best men of the age — and his cronies and 
associates of the famed Quoit Club, in which it seems to have 
been a fundamental canon that the oldest and gravest were to 
submit to a temporary rejuvenation, which was often manifested in 
the display of the prankishness of boys. 

Wirt was not behind his compeers in this temper. I have seen 
some letters addressed to him as "<l>i;y loving Wirt," which 
appellation by no means belied the hilarity of his temper. There 
were many outbreaks of this temper at the bar, which are yet 
pleasantly recalled by the fraternity. One of them we have in an 
anecdote at hand. 

Wickham and Hay were trying a cause in the Court at Rich- 
mond. Wickham was exceedingly ingenious, subtle, quick in 
argument, and always on the alert to take and keep the advantage 
by all logical arts. Hay was not remarkable for guarding all 
points, and was sometimes easily caught in a dilemma. Wickham 
had, on this occasion, reduced him to the choice of an alternative 
in which either side was equally fatal to him. " The gentleman," 
said he, " may take which ever horn he pleases." Hay was per- 
plexed, and the bar amused. He was apt to get out of temper and 
make battle on such occasions, and sometimes indulge in sharp and 
testy expressions — showing himself a little dangerous. A know- 
ledge of this characteristic added to the sport of the occasion. 
Mr. Warden, one of the most learned, witty and popular members 
of this bar, — familiarly known to them as Jock Warden, — for he 
was a Scotchman, and then an old man, — remarked, in a quiet 
way, "Take care of him, he has hay upon his horn!" Wirt 
sitting by, with full appreciation of this classical witticism, forth- 
with hitched it into verse in the following epigram : 

Wickham was tossing Hay in court 
On a dilemma's horns for sport, 
Jock, rich in wit and Latin too. 
Cries, " Habet foenum in cornu." 

The tradition of the bar still preserves this jeu d^sprit, in 
memory of that palmy day of social brotherhood which was, in 
a thousand other forms, cherished and embellished by Wirt and 



CHAP. XX.] MR. WARDEN. 349 

Warden,* Wickham and Hay and llieir comrades, who gave a 
distinctive tone to the society of Richmond, and rendered it, at 
that day, one of the most attractive cities in the Union. 

I have said that the Old Bachelor was not finished until 1813. 
An interval of eighteen months had passed between the publication 
of the greater portion of these essays, and the last (g\v numbers. 
The author was getting tired of it, and found a more pleasant oc- 
cupation in other subjects. He adverts to this in his next letter. 

• This gentleman, Mr. John Warden, is still affectionately remembered at the 
Richmond bar. He was a man of high accomplishment in general literature and 
science, as well as in his profession. He had collected a fine library of rare and 
valuable books, which, being put up at sale after his death, were eagerly sought after 
and purchased. He was said to be the most homely man, both in face and figure, 
to be found in the society with which he lived, and his speech was marked by a 
broad Scotch accent. 

During the revolutionary war, he was once summoned before the House of Dele- 
gates of Virginia, to make atonement for some disloyal, — or, perhaps, too loyal, for 
that, I believe, was his offence, — words uttered by him which had given umbrage 
to that body. It was the custom then, in the Virginia Legislature, to exact of of- 
fenders against their dignity, an apology to be made, kneeling at the bar of the 
House. It is difficult now to believe that a custom so absurd and slavish, as well 
as so degrading to the Legislature itself, should have been tolerated in any of the 
American States, at so late a period as that of the Declaration of Independence, 
especially after the reproof it had received in the British Parliament in 1751, in 
the case of Alexander Murray, and the abolition of it by that body. Still, it was 
yet in force in Virginia. Mr. Warden was obliged to comply, which he did with 
an ill grace : — " I humbly beg pardon," — he said, in his broadest doric, — " of this 
Honorable House : — and a domned dirty house it is," — he added, as he rose slowly 
and awkwardly, with a surly look, and brushed the dust from his knees. 

He was once relating to a circle of friends the gratification he had enjoyed at a 
ball in Richmond, in the society of a beautiful woman, a distinguished belle of that 
time. In attempting to describe her attractions of face and figure, and her grace- 
fulness of motion, he concluded a vivid portraiture which he had drawn, by an at- 
tempt at personal illustration which was too ludicrous to be forgotten. He assumed 
what he intended to be a gentle and winning expression of countenance, and then, 
with a sidelong glance of the eye, threw his ungainly figure into an attitude de- 
signed to convey the idea of perfect elegance and grace, and said, " to give you 
some conception of her gesture and her manner, she looked just so!" The echo 
of the laugh that followed this grave effort at representation, has not entirely died 
away yet. 



VOL. 1—30 



350 LETTER TO CARR. [1812—1813. 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, April 30, 1813. 
Friend of my Youth : 

I admit the justice of your charge as to my scribbling capri- 
ciousness, and yet I know that finis coronal opus^ too. But, as to 
the Old Bachelor, there was no finis naturally growing out of the 
scheme. It was endless; each essay being a whole in itself. — 
I am dispirited, too, by the little effect such things produce. I 
did not begin that business for fame. I wrote in the hope of 
doing good, but my essays dropped into the world like stones 
pitched into a mill-pond ; a little report from the first plunge ; a 
ring or two rolling off from the spot ; then, in a moment, all 
smooth and silent as before, and no visible change in the waters 
to mark that such things had ever been. 

Writing on, under such circumstances, was, I confess, a drag- 
ging, heavy, nauseous work ; and, unless a man write con amore, 
he cannot do it well. As to doing it doggedly^ I should hold 
myself a dog to do it, — yea, a very turn-spit. But, as Ritchie de- 
sires it, and has gone to some expense about the bauble, I will 
turn the spit for five or six revolutions more, and then bid the Old 
Bachelor adieu until I see how the volume takes. If it has a run, 
I shall have the more spirit to work off another volume, and com- 
plete something like a moral and literary scheme, — a whole ; — but 
thereafter as it may be. 

As to the 710VUS hospes^ the larmoyante^ alias weeper, you have 
guessed right, in part; but I began that in the view of adapting 
the characters to the company that was here. One was for 
Greene, one for his wife, one for Twaits, one for Mrs. Clark, and 
so on. But, when that company was dispersed, by the destruction 
of the theatre, and finally dissolved by their subsequent miscar- 
riages in Charleston, 1 had the less inclination to carry it on, for I 
knew that the various parts required the peculiar powers of those 
for whom they were drawn ; and, not knowing into whose hands 
they might fall, nor, of course, how they might be marred and 
the author damned, I was in no hurry to purchase such a catas- 
trophe. But Judge Tucker, to whom I shewed, in confidence. 



CHAP. XX.) THE COMEDY. 351 

the acts that were finished, has put up my courage, and I expect 
to close the aflair before the spring is closed. 

I shall expose it to you in the perfect confidence that you will 
not let nfie expose myself by making it public, if you see that there 
is danger in it ; and I now begin to fear there is, for I wished to 
consult Frank Gilmer on some incidents which I thouglit of intro- 
ducing, and, to qualify him to judge, gave him the acts that were 
finished to read. This was about a week ago. He reads a piece 
of a scene at a sitting, and puts it away to take up a review or a 
newspaper, or something else of equal importance : all which, is 
to me, strong proof that there is but little interest in the affair. I 
do not think very highly of it myself. There are parts of it that 
please me ; but the scenes are not connected with lightness and 
grace, and in the touie ensemble, I fear it is rather ponderous ; but 
of all this you shall judge, and if you barely call it tolerable, I 
know the rest, and shall abandon it without a blush or a murmur. 
I am sure that that kind of composition requires not only peculiar 
talent, but an intimate knowledge of the stage, and a training in 
dramatic authorship particularly. 

" Produce you a comedy equal to Sheridan's !" A pretty re- 
quisition, truly ! Sheridan's ! One of the first, if not the very 
first comedy in the English language ! And the work, too, of a 
man, whose genius is almost unrivalled in the old world, much 
more in the new ! None of your fun, — " none of your comments^ 
Mr. Carr!" You had better require me, next, to produce such 
speeches as Erskine's and Curran's, or such legal investigation as 
Mansfield's and Hardwicke's, or such tragedies as Shakspeare's, 
or such histories as Robertson's. No, sir! The affair being 
homespun, would, I thought, pass very well in these patriotic 
times, without equalling the European manufacture. 

I know that it is superior to some English plays of which it is 
said, in the British theatre, that they were acted at Drury Lane 
or Covent Garden, as the case may be, with unbounded applause; 
but as to its equaling the best of them, the brat has no such pre- 
tensions. 

******* 

Your wife's displeasure at my not writing, I resent, (as Boyle 
says,) with the liveliest gratitude, and I am sincerely obliged to 
you for leading her to think me of so much consequence. 



352 THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. [1812—1813. 

This is a poor return for your long kind letter ; but 3'ou are 
good-natured, and must therefore expect to be imposed on. 
We all join in love to you. 

Your ever aflcctionate friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



The scheme of writing biography was yet kept alive, as a pro- 
ject of future accomplishment. That scheme, as the reader is 
aware, embraced the purpose of a series of lives of the most 
eminent Virginians. It ultimately resulted in the production of 
the volume containing the biography of Henry. The rest of the 
plan was abandoned. The motives which led to this restriction 
of the scheme, are most probably those which are suggested in 
the following letter of Judge Tucker, whom Wirt had frequently 
consulted on the subject. The Judge, as we have remarked, was 
a man of letters, of extensive reading and observation, and one 
who had had many opportunities to become acquainted with the 
principal personages embraced in the biographical scheme. The 
letter of Wirt to him upon this occasion, I have not seen. It is 
probable it was not preserved. But this reply to it contains some 
just remarks upon the difficulties belonging to the task in view, 
and which were doubtless felt by Wirt, in the further contempla- 
tion of this scheme, to an extent which induced the abandon- 
ment of his purpose. 



ST. GEORGE TUCKER TO WM. WIRT. 

Williamsburg, April 4, 1813. 
Mt Dear Sib: 

* • * # * * 

American biography, at least since the conclusion of the peace 
of 1783, is a subject which promises as little entertainment as 
any other in the literary world. Our scene of action is so per- 
fectly domestic, as to afford neither novelty nor variety. Even 
the biographer of Washington has been reproached with im- 
posing upon his readers the history of a nation, instead of the life 
of an individual. Parson Weems has, indeed, tried to supply the 
defect; but I never got further than half the first paragraph: — 



CHAP. XX.J LETTER FROM JUDGE TUCKER. 353 



" George Washington, (says that most renowned biograplier,) the 
illustrious founder of the American Nation, was tlie first son of 

Washington, by a second marriage : a circumstance, (says 

this profound divine, moralist and biographer,) of itself sufficient 
to reconcile the scruples of tender consciences upon that subject." 
I do not pretend that I have given you a literal transcript of the 
passage ; but, I believe the substance is correct. I shut the book 
as soon as I had read it, and have no desire to see any more of it. / 

This leads me to notice that part of your letter which relates 
to the subject of biography. How would you be able to give any 
entertainment to your readers, in the Life of Patrick Henry, with- 
out the aid of some of his speeches in the General Assembly, in 
Congress, in Convention, or in the Federal Court.? What interest 

could be excited by his marrying a Miss , and afterwards a 

Miss D ; and that somebody, whom I will not condescend to 

name, married one of his daughters, &c., &c., &c. No human 
being would feel the smallest interest in such a recital; and, 1 
never heard any thing of him, except as connected with the public, 
that could amuse, for a moment. The same may be said of Lee, 
Pendleton and Wythe ; and the same may be said of every other 
man, of real merit, in Virginia. They have all glided down the 
current of life so smoothly, (except as public men,) that nobody 
ever thought of noticing how they lived, or what they did ; for, 
to live and act like gentlemen, was a thing once so common in 
Virginia, that nobody thought of noticing it. 

It is clear to my apprehension, that unless a man has been dis- 
tinguished as an orator, or a soldier, and has left behind him 
either copies or notes of his speeches, or military exploits, that 
you can scarcely glean enough out of his private life, though he 
may have lived beyond his grand climacterick, to till a half a 
dozen pages, that any body would trouble themselves to read. 

I have known several characters, whose conduct both in public 
and private life, I have esteemed models of human perfection and 
excellence: John Blair, General Thomas Nelson, John Page 
and Beverly Randolph, were men of the most exalted and im- 
maculate virtues. I knew them all well, — nay, intimately, — yet, 
for the soul of me, I could not write ten pages of either, that 
would be read by one in fifty. Colonel Innes may be compared 
to an eagle in the air. You looked up at him with admiration 
VOL. 1—30* 



354 BIOGRAPHICAL WRITING. [1812—1313. 

and delight ; but, as Solomon says, there are no traces of his ex- 
alted and majestic flight left behind. The only shadow of him 
that remains, is Robertson's abridgment of his speech in the Con- 
vention of Virginia in 1788. That may be compared to the 
sparks which issue from a furnace, which is itself invisible. 

I think it much to be regrietted, that such men as I have men- 
tioned above, should descend to the grave and be forgotten, as 
soon as the earth is thrown upon their coffins. But so it is, my 
friend. Literary characters may leave their works behind them, 
as memorials of what they were ; soldiers may obtain a niche in 
the temple of Fame, by some brilliant exploit ; oiators, whose 
speeches have been preserved^ will be remembered through that 
medium ; judges, whose opinions have been reporled, may pos- 
sibly be known to future judges, and members of the bar ; but 
the world cares little about them ; and if they leave no reports^ or 
meet with no reporter to record their opinions, &c., they sink into 
immediate oblivion. I very much doubt if a single speech of 
Richard H. Lee's can be produced at this day. Nevertheless, he 
was the most mellifluous orator that ever I listened to. Who 
knows any thing of Peyton Randolph, once the most popular man 
in Virginia, Speaker of the House of Burgesses, and President 
of Congress, from its first assembling, to the day of his death .-' 
Who remembers Thompson Mason, — esteemed the first lawyer at 
the bar.? Or his brother, George Mason, of whom I have heard 
Mr. Madison, (the present President,) say, that he possessed the 
greatest talents for debate of any man he had ever seen, or heard 
speak. What is known of Dabney Carr, but that he made the 
motion for appointing committees of correspondence in 1773.-* 
Virginia has produced kw men of finer talents, as I have re- 
peatedly heard. I might name a number of others, highly re- 
spected and influential men in their day. The Delegates to, the 
first Congress, in 1774, were Peyton Randolph, Edmund Pen- 
dleton, Patrick Henry, George Washington, Richard H. Lee, 
Richard Bland and Benjamin Harrison. Jeflerson, Wythe and 
Madison, did not come in till afterwards. This alone may shew 
what estimation the former were held in: yet, how little is known 
of one half of them at this day.-* Tiie truth is, that Socrates 
himself, would pass unnoticed and forgotten in Virginia, if he 
were not a public character, and some of his speeches preserved 



CHAr. XX.] DIFFICULTIES OF IT. S55 



in a newspaper: the latter might keep his memory alive for a 
year or two, but not much longer. 

Instead of an attempt at what might be called a biographieal 
account of any of these persons, perhaps a delineation of their 
characters only, with here and there a speech or an anecdote, 
might answer. But anecdotes which might entertain, occur so 
seldom in private life, in Virginia, that they may be truly said 
to be 

" Rari nantes in gurgite vasto." 

Upon the whole, I am inclined to think, biography in Virginia 
would at present be a hopeless undertaking, although a very in- 
teresting selection might be made of Virginia worthies, whose 
general characters deserve to be remembered and transmitted to the 
latest posterity. But the misfortune is, that few remain among us 
who have known and marked the outlines which ousrht to be 
traced ; and still fewer are capable of giving the rudest sketch of 
. them. I have repeatedly wished that my talent lay that way ; but, 
I feel a thorough conviction that it does not. If we lived together, 
and in a daily intercourse, I could, perhaps, from time to time, 
recollect enough of such men as I have mentioned, and some 
others, to enable you to draw an outline of eacli, which you might 
fill up at leisure, from your own resources or the communications 
of others. But were I to take up my pen for that purpose, I 
should only betray my own incompetency. 

You must be tired of this subject, from which I shall turn away 
to the " Path of Pleasure." I rejoice that you propose to resume 
it, and make little doubt you will once more acquire laurels in it, — 
or, as a gamester would say — " throw douhkls a second time.'''' To 
be serious, I trust you will resume it, pursue it ardently, and 
arrive at a speedy and happy conclusion and termination of it. 
When finished, I beg to be favored with a sight of it as early as 
possible, and pledge myself to do my best for a prologue and, 
possibly, an epilogue too. But I must have the play, itself, with 
me at the time, to aid my imagination. 

Believe me ever, most warmly and most sincerely, 

Your friend, 

S. G. TUGKEB. 



356 ALARM AT RICHMOND. [1812—1813. 

We have now some pictures of the war — an alarm at Rich- 
mond, — in this extract from a letter to Mrs. Wirt, who is at 
Montevideo. 

Richmond, June 29, 1813. 

* * * * * * * 

I thank heaven, with lieartfelt gratitude, that you have escaped 
the idle panic into which the city was thrown on yesterday about 
twelve o'clock. I was at the market house attending a common 
hall — when we were broken up by the violent ringing of the alarm 
bell. The first idea that bolted into my mind was that our old 
castle was on fire ; — but before I had crossed the market bridge, 
an alarm cannon was fired on the capitol iiill — then another — and 
another. Here was the complete signal of invasion. The effect 
was such as you may conceive. The signal was perfectly under- 
stood; — every man had to rush with his musket, to the square: — 
even the " silver greys" [and parson Blair among them] flew to arms. 
The report ran that the British were at Rocket's — and we had 
heard from an authentic source, that they had disgraced themselves 
at Hampton, by excesses more atrocious and horrible than ever 
before befel a sacked town-^of a nature so heart-sickening that I 
do not choose to describe them to you: — they even incited the 
negroes to join them in these brutal excesses. What, think you, 
must have been the terrors and agonies of the women here, on the 
report that the same enemy was in their town.'' Doctor Foushee 
applied to me for our carriage to take his daughters to William 
Carter's, in Caroline county, to which I cheerfully agreed. 
Wagons were moving furniture from all parts of the town : — but I 
believe no ladies moved — for before they could prepare, the panic 
was dissipated. McR * * came rushing on the square with a 
pistol in each hand, crying out, "where are they, where are they.?" 
to which the Governor answered, that they were at City Point ; — 

and Mc disposed of his pistols as soon as he could. It 

turned out that the British had ascended the river as high as City 
Point, which is about ten miles below our works and army at 
Hood's, that they were slowly ascending the river; — and the regi- 
ment thus suddenly called, was dismissed till six o'clock this 
evening. I thought it not imprudent to get all your plate together, 
and pack up my books for a travel, if another alarm should take 



CQAP XX.] THE FLYING ARTILLERY. 357 



place ; — which I did. But we heard no more of the enemy until 
this morning, wlien we were informed by an express, that tliey 
had gone back again. Amidst the alarm and uncertainty, how- 
ever, the Governor and field officers were clamorous and impor- 
tunate for a company of flying artillery ; and I could not resist 
their importunities, without submitting myself to the censure of 
indifference at least. So, I raised a company for the defence of 
the town and neighborhood — and a most splendid one it is, 
amounting to near a hundred picked men. Although con- 
vinced that we shall liave nothing to do, this same company will 
prevent my seeing you for some weeks — for my company must be 
trained and made effective and fit for the field before I ought to 
leave them. 

• ***♦«♦ 

Your affectionate husband, 

Wm. Wirt. 

to judge carr. 

Montevideo, Buckingham Co., August 23, 1813. 
Mt Dear Friend : 

Let us waste no time in apologies for not writing. It is enough 
for you to know that you have lived in my heart's core for seven- 
teen years, and tliat the roots by which you have taken hold of 
me, have become stronger with every year. 

As a friend, I am not conscious that you have any right to 
reproach me, except that I am an irregular, and if you please, a 
lazy correspondent. This is the single blot in my escutcheon; 
and I am not very sure that you do not bear the same reproach, so 
that this is a new point of congeniality, and, of course, of attrac- 
tion. If those who have been miserable together, love each other 
the more on that account, why not those who have been lazy 
together ? 

You would know what I have been doing this summer ? Why, 
reading newspapers, mustering in the militia, hearing alarm bells 
and alarm guns, and training a company of flying artillery, with 
whom, in imagination, I have already beaten and captured four or 
five different British detachments of two or three thousand each. 



353 EXCITEMENTS OF THE WAR. [1812—1813. 



'^Silent leges inter arma''' — silent musce quoqiie — unless it be the 
muse of Tyrtoeus who, as Tom Divers says, is one of those cattle 
I don't suffer to speak to me. 

Talking of Tyrtaius, I never saw his fragments till lately. 
They are most noble productions; and supposing them to have 
been sung, accompanied by instrumental music, in an army 
marching to battle, I believe firmly in the effects which history 
ascribes to them. The author of the Marseilles Hymn, I suspect, 
had read Tyrtasus. There is a great analogy in the spirit of the 
productions : the latter I have no doubt, was suggested by the 
former. 

I wish you would get the minor poets, which you may do in 
Winchester, I suppose, and read Tyrtajus, If your Greek is 
rusty, there is a Latin translation; but in several of the most beau- 
tiful passages, it is defective, I think, so far as my little remaining 
Greek informs me. You will enjoy him, I predict, highly. 

You have heard all about our Richmond alarms — " the whole 
truth," as Pope's witness said, " and more, too." 

My wife and children were out of town. They were here ; but 
I was " in the thick of the throng." There was nothing wanting 
but composure. We should have fought like lions ; but from the 
suddenness and agitation of the alarm, it struck me that we should 
not fire well, at least for the first two or three rounds. We beat 
our forefathers, as militia. I mean no disrespect to them whom I 
so much revere, but the fact is so, and it is very easily accounted 
for consistently with their honor. 

We have breathed, for thirty years, the proud spirit of inde- 
pendence, and in this spirit we begin the war. They, on the 
contrary, were warring against the habit of subjection, and were 
fighting against some of the strongest tendencies of their own 
hearts in fighting against their king. They were crushed, too, 
by conscious poverty, and the almost entire destitution of all the 
means of war. We, on the contrary, arc rich, and armed cap a 
pie. No wonder, therefore, that we have more confidence, pride 

and courage. 

What do you think of young Croghan's defence of Lower San- 
dusky ! He is, by land, exactly what Decatur, Lawrence, Hull 
and Bainbridge are, at sea ; the very counterpart of their daring 
spirits. It is exactly the spirit which Bonaparte displayed at 



CHAP. XX.] DOMESTIC AFFAIRS. 359 

Lodi: and if Croghan's intellect equals his courage, it will only 
be the want of opportunity which will stop him short of the sum- 
mit of martial renown. 

My family are all here — in health and spirits. Laura is now 
writing her Mair's exercise in my study, a room in the third 
story about sixty feet from the ground, which opens on the moun- 
tains — where I teach my children, and sit and read, and xorite 
rarely. Writing requires a solitude and self-possession which my 
children will not allow me. 

Laura is reading Virgil. You see I stick to my Latin system. 
I will try it with her, taking care to leave her time, between this 
and seventeen, for those accomplishments which she cannot do 
without. Robert is delving away at Latin too. He is beginning 
to parse, which is a thing he hates as bad as Coalter's man did 
something else. 

My twins, — were you to see them playing together on a sheet 
spread on the floor, so healthy, so sweet — don't talk, sir! 

My wife is in uncommon health, but down-hearted because of 
the flying artillery, which she considers a boyish freak, unfit for 
the father of six unprovided children. 

Our love attend you all. 

Your friend, as ever, till death, 

\Vm. Wirt. 

to judge carr. 

Montevideo, October 2, 1813. 
My Dear Friend : 

Yours of the 19th ult. overtook me at this place. Agreed, — 
let us bury the hatchet for past omissions, and do as well as we 
can hereafter. If we are a little idle or so at times, let it break 
no squares between us. We have known each other too long and 
too well to grow suspicious and captious, and quarrel for straws 
of etiquette and punctilio. 

You say some eloquent things about Croghan and the navy. 
They are all just, and I echo every sentiment. God speed them ! 
which is as much as they can expect of you and I. Now let us 



SCO JUDGE CARR'S SUCCESS. [1812-1813. 

talk of our noble selves — a very interesting subject, about which 
you have not said more than ten words. 

I hear that Lord Hardwicke, Lord Camden and Chancellor 
Brown, are in danger of a total eclipse! That the decrees at 
Winchester and Clarksburg have all the rust of legal lore which 
antiquarians prize so highly, together with the true Ciceronian 
flow and nilor. How is this.'' Must Coke and Call,* Peere Wil- 
liams and Billy Williams, Raymond and Mumford, all be thrown 
into the shade, obnubilated, obfuscated and obruted for ever and 
ever ! Must Blackstone and Blackburn, Cicero and Shackelford, 
Mansfield and Magill, be utterly forgotten, pompeized and hercu- 
laneized for twenty centuries! Forbid it, JMercuri facunde^ — for- 
bid it Apollo, the nine muses and the seven senses ! Report me 
truly on this subject. 

Do you really mean to extinguish these comets, to tread out the 
constellations, lamp-black the milky way, quench the sun, and set 
the planets at blindman's-buif, that they may ris3 with unrivalled 
magnificence on the beniglited universe ? Give us notice, sir, that 
we may take our measures accordingly. 

And this brings me to speak of the visit made you by Peter and 
Frank. Would I had been with you ! What a time you must 
have had of it ! What three happy fellows ! No three happier 
in the world. To be sure, there have been four, /icre, not far 
behind you in this particular : for you are to know, that as I passed 
by Pope's last week, he formed a junction with my caravan, 
and we arrived at Montevideo on Saturday evening, in high 
health and spirits. Here, besides the families (Cabell's and mine), 
we found Frank Gilmer, and we had for four days and nights, 
what our blacks eloquently call " old laugliing." 

Pope was in his gloiy — " fought all his battles o'er again," 
with triple lustre, " and thrice he slew the slain." In fact, he 
was very near killing all three of us with laughter, and our wives 
and children to boot. 

He dined one day at Charles Yancey's, — a grave and orderly 
family. He dropped among them like an unknown wateifowl, and 
took the Major's mother, an old lady of seventy, so completely by 

• Call, Williams, Mumford, and others here referred to, were gentlemen of the 
Virginia bar, some of whom had publJisbcd reporla of the Virgiaia decisions; the 
others were counsel of note. 



CHAP. XX.] THE COMEDY. 361 



surprise, that he laughed her into an epilepsy. Such a cure for 
the heart-ache never before existed. " A cure for the heart- 
ache," you know, is the name of a play. 

Apropos — this leads me to speak of mine. 1 tried the metal 

of the piece on when I was in Richmond, and found that 

(to change the metaphor) every key produced the expected note. 
He cried, laughed, started and gaped with curiosity, just as 1 
intended : so that if he is as good a criterion of the public taste 
as Moliere's old woman, the piece would certainly take. * 

* * * If I find that I have the weather-gage of 
the public, I will give them an annual dose of good morals through 
this channel. 

******* 

We have just received the last Richmond papers. The British 
parliament prorogued : — no ministers to meet ours in Russia : — the 
American war to be pressed. Without a glorious campaign this 
summer by Bonaparte, and the conquest of Canada by us, we shall 
have no peace this year. O ! for an American navy and Ameri- 
can Generals ! 

*****#* 

But plague on politics and politicians ! say I. * 

My wife unites with me in love to yourself and Mrs. Carr, and 
my children also send love to yours. My twins still shine with 
unrivalled lustre. 

May Heaven ever bless and prosper you, and make you as illus- 
trious and happy as my soul wishes you. 

Cabell and Frank Gilmer send love piping hot. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



Francis Gilmer was, at this time, an inmate in Wirt's family, 
and was assiduously pursuing the study of the law, I shall here- 
after have an opportunity to offer several letters, written to the 
student by his friend, in the way of advice upon his studies, which 
will commend themselves to the attention of all who strive to 
attain the honors of the profession to which these letters refer. 
The following is the first in this series : 



VOL. 1—31 



362 LETTER TO GILMER. [1912-1813. 



TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Montevideo, November 16, 1813. 
My Dear Francis: 

As in the bustle of starting I forgot to shake hands with you, 
I shall endeavor to offer some atonement for it by giving you the 
first letter. Had I not been perplexed by the multitude of petty 
concerns, to which it was necessary for me to attend, I wished to 
have had some particular conversation with you about the course 
of your studies •, and more especially, the mode of studying Bacon. 

It was understood that you were not only to read all Bacon's 
references, but to add to them Dallas, C ranch, and the Virginia 
reporters. There are some British reporters since Gwillim's edi- 
tion of Bacon that I have; and as, instead of shrinking from labor, 
you love a task the more for being the more herculean, — I would 
recommend it to you to embrace them in your scheme also. 

Whenever the head you are upon involves the subject of plead- 
ing, you ought to consult Chitty before you broach Bacon, and 
learn to draw the plea off-hand, at once. For example, — the first 
head in Bacon is " Abatement :" The course which we propose is, 
first, to see what Blackstone says on that subject throughout, 
which you will easily do by the aid of his index. Consult 
Tucker's Blackstone, with the editor's notes, to see the changes 
superinduced by our state law. You will thus have gotten the 
chart of the coast, at least in outline, and know were you are ; 
next Chitty, — in his first volume you will see his learning on the 
plea of abatement. In his second, you will see the forms of the 
plea itself, which you must be able to draw before you lay him 
down. Thus prepared, you open Bacon, and having read him and 
his references on the subject, you turn to Bosanquet and Puller, 
East's Reports, Smith's Reports, Campbell's Reports, Selwyn's 
Nisi Prius, Espinasse's Reports, — Day's edition, — then the Ameri- 
can and Virginia Reports. 

In my notes, I would follow Bacon's distribution of the head, 
and arranire the matter which I collect, as he would have done, 
had he possessed it. 

When, for example, you find a case presenting a new prin- 
ciple, — say, on the subject of "Abatement," as what may be 



CHAP. XX.] STUDY OF THE LAW. 363 

pleaded in abatement, — turn to that division of the head of "Abate- 
ment," under which such matter properly comes, and insert the 
reference there : otherwise, all your own discoveries will come 
en masse^ at the end of the head in your note book, and will be 
without distribution, order, or light. 

You must not read so long at a time, and with so little diges- 
tion as to make your head spin, as Lord Mansfield says, — nor to 
fill it with confusion and " aitches" (aches) — as Kemblc calls it 
On the contrary, take your time and see your course clearly; 
understand the whole ground as you go along — not only geograph- 
ically, but topographically ; keep your books and your route under 
your eye, as clearly as a general does his army and his line of 
march ; and, like a great general and conqueror, never quit any 
province you enter, without being able to say, this province is 
mine, and placing in it an invincible garrison. 

The general course is, to gallop over these provinces like 
travellers in a hurry, and having made one or two remarks, to ' 
take it for granted we know all about it, — as Weld, from a single 
example, pronounces " all the tavern keepers in this state drunk- 
ards, and all their wives scolds." One student, too, as soon as 
he leaves one of these provinces, having contrived to make his 
ow^n time very disagreeable in it, as well as very unprofitable, 
turns about at the boundary line, and making a very profound 
reverence, says, "I hope never to see you again;" whereas, had 
he cultivated it properly, he might have made the grounds so pro- 
fitable and delightful, that it would have been grateful at a future 
day to return and review them. 

I am not one of those who believe in the declension of genius 
in these latter days. — I believe the paucity of great men, in all 
ages, has proceeded from the universality of indolence. Indolence 
is natural to man, and it is only the brave few, wlio can " clear the 
copse at a bound," breakover the magic bourne, and stretch away 
with " an eye that never winks, and a wing that never tires," into 
new regions and new worlds; who distinguish themselves from the 
crowd, and rise to glory that never fades. What kind of men 
were Littleton, Coke, Bacon, &c. .? Think what habits of appli- 
cation they must have had, — what an insatiable appetite for know- 
ledge ; not the morbid craving of a day or a week, but the perse- 
vering voracity of a long life. Such only are the fellows who 



364 STUDY OF THE LAW. [1S12— 1813. 

climb so high up Fame's obelisk, as to write their names where 
they may strike the eye of distant nations. The many of us who 
cannot bear the labor of climbing, stand on the ground and stretch 
up as high as we can : and as this is a paltry business that depends 
more on the longest legs and arms, than the longest head, it turns 

out that 's name is legible as far as 's ; and in a very short 

time, they will both be erased by the scrambling herd of their 
unaspiring successors, who will be as tall as they are, and will 
claim their hour of notice, in a world of several leagues in cir- 
cumference. 

You have begun under the happiest auspices, — even set out 
with a stock of science and information, which was not surpassed, 
I suspect, in the example of Mr. Jefferson, and not equalled in any 
other; I do not except Tazewell. Now if you do not keep the 
advantage you have got, the fault is your own. You may get up 
among the eminent few, at the top of the obelisk, if you choose, or, 
if you prefer it, expire among the ephemera at the base. For my 
own part, independent of the affection which makes me take an in- 
terest in youjil have a sort of philosophical curiosity to see what is 
attainable by man; and I know of no young man so well gifted for 
the experiment as yourself. The cultivation of eloquence should 
go hand in hand with your legal studies. I would commit to 
memory and recite a la mode de Garrick — the finest parts of 
Shakspeare, to tune the voice, by cultivating all the varieties of its 
melody, to give the muscles of the face all their motion and ex- 
pression, and to acquire an habitual ease and gracefulness of ges- 
ture, and command of the stronger passions of the soul. I 
would recite my own compositions, and compose them for recita- 
tion ; I would address my recitations to trees and stones, and fall- 
ing streams, if 1 could not get a living audience, and blush not 
even if I were caught at it. So much for this subject. 

****** 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt, 



CHAPTER XXI. 

18 14. 

CONTENTMENT.— PROSPEROUS CONDITION. — LETTERS TO CARR. — TO MR. 
LOMAX. — OPINION OF CICERO. _ VIEWS OF THE WAR. — EXTRAVAGANT 
OPINIONS. — LETTER TO GILMER. — CAMPAIGNING. — INSUBORDINATION OF 
THE MILITIA VISIT TO WASHINGTON.— CONGRESS UNFAVORABLE AS- 
PECT OF AFFAIRS MADISON WEBSTER AVERSION TO PUBLIC LIFE- 
ENGAGEMENT IN THE SUPREME COURT.— POSTPOfJED. 

Wirt's professional position was now securely established, 
on the same level with the most eminent men of the bar of Vir- 
ginia. The most difficult and the most dangerous points in the 
path of his worldly career may be said to have been overcome. 
The content which springs from certainty and safety in the affairs 
of life was opening broadly upon his household. A numerous 
family of children was growing up around him. His business was 
not only profitable, but it was also of a character which rendered 
it most agreeable to his ambition, by the reputation it brought him 
and the scope it gave to a useful and honorable association with 
the more important individuals and concerns of the society in 
which he lived. A man becomes aggrandized and strengthened 
in his place by such connections, as trees whose roots take firmer 
hold of the soil by the thousand new fibres of a healthful growth. 

The natural concomitant of this steady success was a placid and 
regular life, from which w^e may not expect much material, just at 
this time, to give excitement to our narrative. It is in toiling up 
the steep of fame, that the casualties of human condition and the 
adventures which belong to the strife of genius, afford the most 
animating topics of instruction. The height once gained, the 
votary's progress is apt to lose the interest of its previous doubtful 
and anxious struggles, in that period of repose and quiet enjoyment 
which generally follows successful endeavor as its appropriate 
reward. 

I do not mean to intimate that, at this juncture, the subject of 
our memoirs had attained a point at which his ambition found 

VOL. 1—31* 



366 PROSPEROUS CONDITION. 



[1814. 



nothing further to covet. But he had gained a platform where he 
rejoiced in disenthralling liimself of those misgivings, which we 
have seen him sometimes disposed to entertain, in the contempla- 
tion of his labors to secure an independent position for his family. 
He felt that his success was assured. He had earned, and was now 
enjoying, the respect of friends, the consideration of society, the 
reputation of useful and vigorous talent, and some little celebrity, 
besides, connected both with forensic and literary eminence. He 
had health, competence, many of the luxuries and elegancies of 
life. In short, he had a bright outlook upon the world, which, of 
itself, is one of the happiest conditions of humanity. Behind him, 
was the pleasant landscape of many rugged heights traversed and 
prosperously surmounted. Before him, were eminences rising to 
the clouds, but with gentler slope and easier way, lightened by a 
brighter sun and freshened with a richer verdure. He had limb 
and nerve to climb them, with a heart as stout as at first. 

At this stage of his progress, it is a pleasant duty to lay before 
my readers that little tissue of his private history, — the history of 
his thoughts and opinions, rather than of his doings, — which is to 
be gathered from the light-hearted letters of this time. They deal 
in small incidents, mostly of a domestic and personal nature, and 
shed a serene and agreeable light upon his own character, as well 
as upon that of his friends. 

" It is not the habit of my mind," he says, in a letter to Carr, 
about this time, " to repine at the past. On the contrary, I so far 
profit by it, as to make it the measure of the future. I look 
cheerfully forward, and flatter myself I shall yet amass a hand- 
some independence, turn farmer, and, on some fine seat, build a 
castle and a literary name. ' A castle in the air,' quoth you. 
Very probably. Yet the illusion is pleasing, and ' Hope,' you 
know, ' still travels through, nor quits us till we die.' For which 
companionable temper of hers, I most gratefully thank her Serene 
Highness, and bid her welcome to my fireside. 



CHAP. XXI.] LETTER TO CARR. 367 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, February 15, 1814. 
Mr Dear Friend : 

You have written me such a letter as I have not seen this many 
a day before. I have just been reading it all the w^ay from the 
post office, from which it took me half an hour to walk, and I 
experienced, in reading it, some of the most delicious suffocations 
that ever touched me. I don't know whether you have enough of 
the woman in you to understand this expression : if not, so much 
the better for you, according to Hume. Not that I doubt your 
sensibility. I know that well : but I don't know that it ever takes 
you by the throat. Your manhood might rebel at such a liberty ; 
and yet I have seen it make pretty free with your eyes. 

The truth is, that your praise gives me more pleasure than that 
of all the other men in the world put together. I have had such 
long and intimate experience both of your candor and judgment : 
I know them both to be of the very first quality. You have had, 
too, such an opportunity of judging me as no other man alive has 
had ; and when I add to this the tenderness and sincerity of your 
friendship for me, you may well believe that I speak in the sim- 
plicity of my heart, when I say that I would not exchange your 
good opinion of me for that of all the great and little men of the 
nation. Nay, that I should find ample consolation and refuge in 
your esteem and affection from the desertion of all the world of 
men beside. 

It is in vain that conscience tells me I do not deserve what you 
say of me ; for immediately I retort on conscience as the sailor did 
on the man whom he was about to throw overboard, " do you 
know better than the doctor !" If I were very anxious to con- 
vince you of your error, I would tell you that I fear any one but 
a partial friend would smile at your recital of the evidences of my 
talents. The British Spy and the Old Bachelor! " Against eight 
hundred ships in commission, we enter the lists with a three shil- 
ling pamphlet," said John Randolph of Mr. Madison's book on 
Neutral Rights ; — and too surely I fear that, weighed against the 
great and copious works of a man of genuine talents and resources, 
the poor little British Spy and the Old Bachelor would sink, (or, 



368 AUTHORSHIP. (1814. 



rather to keep up the metaphor of weighing, would rise) into equal 
contempt. To tell you the truth, I fancy myself much such a 
fellow as a late Edinhurg review describes Horace Walpole to 
have been; — that is to say — as having begun life with a most 
ardent passion for literary fame of the noblest order, but having 
convinced himself, by two or three experiments, that nature had 
denied him the qualities which are essential to the composition of 
a great author, he took it out in gay and frivolous laughter at him- 
self and all other literary pretenders ; and found that his talents 
were at home only in light-hearted raillery. Mine have been only 
short and sportive excursions, exceedingly light and desultory, 
and, I fear, exceedingly frothy and flashy. I have written no sus- 
tained work ; nothing which shews those masterly powers of in- 
vestigation, of arrangement, of combination, of profound and great 
thinking, of the character of which I should be proud, and in 
which alone I should feel any satisfaction. Such a work as Rob- 
ertson's Charles Vth, for example, or as Tacitus' Annals, or Plu- 
tarch's Lives, even, would content me. Is not this modest ^ By- 
the-bye, I don't think much of Plutarch's Lives, for the authorship. 
They owe their celebrity, 1 suspect, much more to the excellency 
of the materials than to the workmanship. He seems to me to 
reverse Ovid's materiem superahat opus, and is, in my humble 
opinion, very much of a dry, babbling, superstitious old woman. 
You see I am off the track. Well— here I go. 

Talking of authorship, I shall send you by Magill to-day, 
George Hay's work on Expatriation. I want your opinion of it : 
not for Hay, but for myself. I will not tell you what we think of 
it here : I mean we, your particular friends. I will only tell you 
that by men much greater than we pretend to be, it has been 
cracked up to the stars. Mr. Madison, it is said, has presented 
several copies of it in great triumph to Jeffries, the master re- 
viewer at Edinburgh, Ingersoll, Duponceau, Rush and old John 
Adams, have eulogized it in the strongest terms. It is making a 
great noise amongst the political literati of the North, and is over- 
shadowing its author with laurels. Read it with attention. Weigh 
it with your usual thought and care, and let me have your consci- 
entious opinion of it. 



CHAP. XXI.] NAPOLEON. 369 



Now turn we to a much more interesting work, — your boy.* 
How much I am gratified by tliis incident, I will not, because I 
cannot tell you. 1 learn, too, that it is no sudden freak to give 
him this name : that your girls have baulked the project many a 
time before. Had you any superstition you would think that Pro- 
vidence thus interfered to give you time for consideration. But 
let us not be given, like Father Shandy, to too close reasoning on 
small matters. Let me tell you that Mrs. Carr's determination in 
this affair, is sweeter to me than the oil that was poured on Aaron's 
head. I love, honor, and you shall obey her. Tell her that 
the boy shall never have cause to blush for his name, so far as 
honor is concerned, unless, as you say, " the devil is in it — and 
then I shall never believe it 'till it happens." May heaven bless 
the boy and make him a halo of glory around his parents' heads! 
It is indeed, a dread responsibility which we fathers have. Yours 
is nothing. To act properly and exemplarily is natural to you. I 
give you no credit for it. Nature mingled your elements and 
gave your blood its current. To act wrong would just be as 
unnatural to you as to act right is to the greater part of the world. 
But what is to become of such a wayward, undisciplined rabble 
of spirits and habits as mine ; how am I to manage them so as to 
place a grave, reverend, and patriarchal example before my chil- 
dren .'' I'll tell you what, sir — as old Mr. J used to say, 

" there's no more chance for me — no — no more than there is for 
the Pope of Rome," — for whom, by-the-bye, according to the 
present posture of affairs in Europe, there seems to be a pretty 
good chance. 

Apropos — {very apropos indeed !) what think you of this reverse 
of Bonaparte's fortunes .'' "Consuesse enim, Deos immortales, 
quo gravius homines ex commutatione rerum doleant, quos, pro 
scelere eorum ulcisci velint, his secundiores interdum res et diu- 
turniorem impunitatem concedere." As for Napoleon, I care no 
more for him, in himself considered, than I do for any other tor- 
nado that is past. But will France, drained and exhausted, be 
able to make head against this northern hive, or will she share 
the fate of Poland } I am curious to see the character of France 
in this new situation in which she is placed. How will she regard 

* Carr had just named a son after his friend. The next letter, it will be seen, 
was occasioned by the death of this boy. 



370 LIGHT LITERATURE. 



[1814. 



Bonaparte in eclipse ? What will be the result to Europe of 
this recoiling flood of success ? We live in an age of most won- 
derful events, but they are of a most stern and ferocious character. 
They have not the interest or magnificence of crusades : so much 
can sentiment do in these matters, and such a grace can chivalry 
and a generously mistaken Christianity shed upon a cause. 

What effect will Napoleon's reverse have on us .'' Some think 
that Britain will take, if not higher, at least more obstinate ground 
against us on account of her triumphs. Others, again, think that 
having gotten the Emperor down, she will be anxious to devote 
all her powers to his annihilation, and therefore be the better 
inclined to have peace with us. My own opinion is that she has 
no notion of giving up any point in the quarrel ; that with the 
latter of those two views she may probably be inclined to a truce, 
and that she will then negotiate with us, if we will indulge her, 
till she has tried the issue of her arms on France ; but that in any 
event she will finally persist in the principles and practices against 
which we are at war. 

But what care we for politics — let us talk of our children. 

The Old Bachelor is not yet at hand. Ritchie announces that 
he is shortly expected. I will send you a copy by the earliest 
conveyance. By-the-bye, quere, whether even compositions of 
this character are not calculated to produce the effect which your 
brother ascribed to play-writing ? I am afraid that both the Old 
Bachelor and the British Spy will be considered by the world as 
rather too light and bagatellish for a mind pretending either to 
stability or vigor. I recollect no man of eminence, (I mean 
political eminence,) either in this or any other modern country, 
who has descended to such amusements. To tell you the simple 
truth, politics never appeared to me to be a desirable field, or one 
for which I was fitted either by nature or habit ; and, therefore, I 
have never squared my course by any such anticipation. But if 
you are in earnest in your prophecies about me, and in wishing 
also to see them fulfilled, it is time for me to cast my manners 
and rules of action over again. " I shall never believe it though, 
till I see it," as you say on another occasion. 

My wife, who has read your letter with as much pleasure as I 
have done, unites with me in love to you and yours. * * 



CHAP. XXI.] LETTER TO CARR. 371 

The Governor (meaning Cabell,) and his wife, and Frank Gilmer 
greet you kindly. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

to judge carr. 

RicHMONDj May 15, 1814. 
Mt Dear Friend: 

I received, yesterday, your letter of the 6th instant, giving the 
distressing account of the loss of your dear boy. It is a rude and 
dreadful blow. But we are in the hands of a Being who governs 
the Universe at His pleasure, and whose dispensations, I believe, 
however deeply they cut at the moment, are always destined to 
avert some greater calamity. You might have lost hini at a 
more interesting age, after those chords with which he had 
begun to take possession of your hearts had become more 
complete and more strong. You might have lost him under 
circumstances and by a mode of death still more heart-rending 
and distracting. My own sufferings from the death of friends and 
children have been so severe that I have sometimes found myself 
rebelling against the author of all good, and arraigning both his 
justice and mercy. Parnell's Hermit first put me right on this 
subject ; taught me to regard afflictions themselves as " blessings in 
disguise," and to kiss the rod with humble resignation. We have 
nothing else for it, my dear friend, in this life. We can neither 
stop nor change the course of events, much less can we recall 
them. To surrender ourselves to unavailing sorrow on account of 
the dispensations of Providence is, therefore, not the path which 
either reason or religion would point out to us. To mourn over 
such a loss as you have experienced, is, indeed, both natural and 
inevitable ; but to permit it to hang upon the heart and to weigh 
down the mind and spirits, is inconsistent with our duty both to 
ourselves and others. You have excellent children who are still 
spared to you. You and your wife are both young, and Heaven, 
I doubt not, will richly supply the place of the cherub who has 
been taken from you. How apt we are to aggravate our afflic- 
tions, by imagining that if we are not the only sufferers in the 
world we are certainly the greatest ! Alas ! where is the man 



372 LETTER TO LOMAX. [1814. 

with a family who has not imagined the same thing of himself! 
You know that I myself lost two of the best children in the world 
within a month of each other ; one of them, too, a perfect beauty, 
and in the very age of fascination. My eyes, at this moment, fill 
at the recollection of that girl : but she is an angel in Heaven, 
and has escaped from all those sorrows and sufferings which con- 
tinue to scourge us. God's will be done ! Let us submit ourselves 
to his power, wisdom and goodness, confiding that, in his own 
good time and way, he will bring good out of evil and shew us 
that we have mistaken a blessing for a curse. 

******* 
My wife begs Mrs. Carr to be assured of her sympathy. We 
pray God to bless you both. 

Farewell, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next letter has reference to some opinions upon the merits 
of Cicero's works, which had been disparaged in the British Spy. 
It is addressed to a friend who resided at Menokin, in Richmond 
County, on the Rappahannock. 

TO JOHN TAYLOR LOMAX. 

Richmond, July 1 , 1814. 

Mr Dear Lomax : 

******* 

I would fain apply this recess of the Courts to my law books 
and a preparation for the fall and winter campaign ; but I have 
not the courage. And so, having bought at Jock Warden's sale 
Verburgius's folio edition of all Cicero's works, I have been 
brushing up my Latin and have read with great delight his 
Orator and his Brutus. But my delight only continues while I 
have my eyes fixed on Cicero ; for the moment I turn them, by 
way of comparison, on the brightest of our own native models, 
my heart sinks and dies within me. What children we are, my 
dear Lomax — what boys, and raw boys too, compared with that 
wonderful man ! I have once wronged him by the publication of 
an opinion concerning him ; but I hope to live to repair the error. 
Middlcton, whose book I have also read since the courts rose, 



CHAP. XXI.J VIEWS OF THE WAR. 373 

observes that no man who has ever read Cicero's books on 
Oratory will wonder that he has stood unrivalled to the present 
day ; for there never was, he says, and there never will be again 
such a union of talents and of toil. If such glory could be 
carried by a coup de main, even at the risk of life, who would 
not aspire to it .? But to be able to effect it only by a siege for 
life, — and such a siege too, — not one day in every week, but 
every day devoted, and most enthusiastically devoted, to the 
pursuit ! — it is enough to shake a much more constant man than 
me. What say you to it > You will say, perhaps, that in these 
war times I might be better employed than in reading Cicero. 
But " I deny your hypothesis," as one of Judge Coalter's Scotch- 
Irish acquaintances replied to a man who had given him the lie. 
The Legislature have dismantled my flying artillery, by prohibit- 
ing the Executive from supplying us with horses and other muni- 
tions of war, whereby they have driven me into the ranks of the 
militia again, and there I stand until the war comes to me. 

Oh, for an American General ! — What can we do without one, 
but erect monuments to our own folly and disgrace on the Cana- 
dian frontier ? Had we a commander worthy of our cause and 
of our people, the army would be the resort of character and 
talents, and we might once more " put the British troops to 
school." As it is — Good Lord deliver us ! 

They say the hostages are delivered up ; — and, I suppose, we 
shall go on, in the sanguine hope of peace, acting as if that peace 
had already taken place, till the Philistines be upon us. How far 
may the designs of England reach } She has just seen France 
complete the circle of her Revolution by returning to her old 
allegiance. May she not improve upon the hint in regard to us .-* 
and want her American Colonies again to preserve her balance 
against those great powers who have been shaking Europe to its 
foundations? May not our divisions foster such a project.'' If 
she has such a project in her head, although perfectly chimerical, 
it will tend, I apprehend, to prolong the war, as well as to render 
it much more obstinate and bloody. 

Your sincere and cordial friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

VOL. 1—33 



374 EXTRAVAGANT OPINIONS. [1814. 



The present generation will be amused at these speculations 
upon the purpose of England, in the war to which they refer. 
They are worthy of note, as expressing opinions and apprehensions 
which many seriously entertained in this country, — but which we 
can scarcely imagine ever found a place in the deliberations of a 
British cabinet. Between the war of the Revolution and that of 
1812, the interval, as it had not obliterated the animosity of the 
country against England, so, neither had it entirely removed the 
suspicion of a desire, on the part of our old enemy, to attempt the 
reconquest of her lost colonies when occasion might seem to favor 
the enterprise. The vestige of this sentiment Teft upon the minds 
of the people, somewhat resembles that connected with the Pre- 
tender, whose apparition disturbed the dreams of Englishmen even 
at the date of the birth of George the Third. The lapse of time 
between the war of 1812 and the present day, amongst its mira- 
cles of national progress, has thrown this fancy of the recon- 
quest, — if any sane man ever indulged it, — into the category of 
the most harmless of dreams ; with even less of the probable in 
it than that counterpart prophecy, which we have heard in this 
our own day — " That man is now alive, with a beard upon his 
chin, who will see an American army reviewed by an American 
general, in Hyde Park." Let us hope that the guardian genius of 
the future destiny of two great nations, will keep such " toys of 
desperation " out of the minds of both ; and ever confirm them in 
the virtuous faith, that peace and brotherhood have nobler 
triumphs than the vulgar glories of war. May their strength 
never be measured in more destructive contest than that which 
shall be seen in the rivalry of beneficent acts and the exchange 
of the physical and intellectual wealth of civilization ! 

Francis Gilmer had now removed to Winchester, with an 
intent to commence the practice of the law. He was consigned 
by Wirt to the special guidance of his friend Carr. The follow- 
ing is an extract from a letter to the young practitioner on this 
occasion. 



CHAP. XXI.] LETTER TO GILMER. 375 



TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, July 13, 1814. 

My Dear Francis : 

I thank you for yours of the 14th, which I have just received. 
You magnify very much the slight favors which we have had it in 
our power to render you. Such as they are they have heen most 
cheerfully rendered ; and you have more than counterbalanced 
them by the pleasure of your society. 

Your friends are all interested in your making a first rate figure. 
Mediocrity will not content us. But this eminence is not to be 
reached per saltum ; you will find it pretty much of an Alp- 
climbing business. The points of the rocks to which you cling 
will often break in your hands, and give you many a fall and 
many a bruise. Those who are in possession of the mountain 
before you, will annoy you not a little and increase the natural 
difficulties of the passage. But, instead of despairing at the first 
fall, or at the twentieth, remember the prospect from the sum- 
mit, and the rich prizes that await you, — wealth, beauty, glory. 
Above all, do not be disheartened at the high expectations 
which you know to be entertained of you, or too prompt to 
despond at your first failures and the slowness of your progress. 
We all know that it is " a rough roll and tumble " game in 
which you are engaged, and if you are thrown, (as thrown you 
will be, again and again,) you must up with a laugh, catch a 
better hold next time, and try it again. Do not calculate on 
feeling perfectly at your ease in this gymnasium, under two or 
three years ; and these, not two or three years of indolent hanging 
on, (from which you could learn nothing,) but of daily and arduous 
exercise and study. You know you have much yet to read, to fill 
up the outline which we had marked out for your preparatory 
studies. You must, especially, make yourself intimate with the 
Virginia reporters, and feel at home in all the cases, so as to 
have, not only the principles, but the names of the cases ever 
ready. 

You cannot conceive how much the mastery of our State 
decisions will place you at your ease, and what vantage ground it 



376 PREPARATION FOR THE BAR. [1S14. 

will give you, over the generality of your profession. The law 
is to many, at first and at last too, a dry and revolting study. 
It is hard and laborious; it is a dark and intricate labyrinth, 
through which they grope in constant uncertainty and per- 
plexity, — the most painful of all states of mind. But you cannot 
imagine that this was the case with Lord Mansfield, or with 
Blackstone, who saw the whole fabric in full daylight in all its 
proportions and lustre ; who were, indeed, the architects that 
helped to build it up. Although, at present, you walk, as it 
were, through the valley of the shadow of death, yet keep on, 
and you will emerge into the bright and perfect day ; and leav- 
ing behind you the gropers, and bats, and moles, you will see 
the whole system at one glance, and walk like the master of the 
mansion, at your ease, into any apartment you choose, O diem 
])ra3clarem ! Then you will handle your tools, not only dexte- 
rously but gracefully, like a master workman, and add, yourself, 
either a portico, a dome, or an attic story to the building and 
engrave your name on the marble, Proh spectaculum ! But 
enough, and more than enough, to you who require rather the 
rein than the spur. I feel great anxiety for you, and am very 
anxious to hear of your dehut. Avail yourself of the first favor- 
able opportunity to make it ; taking full time for preparation, (but 
not for pompous preparation, which would ruin you ;) and give 
me an ingenuous account of the whole affair. Remember in your 
preparations, that enucleare does not signify to mash the kernel, 
and take out a part — but to take out the whole, neat and clean. 

We all join in love and best wishes to you. 

Adieu, 

Wm. Wirt. 

We shall now find some pictures of a militia campaign, in the 
I'ollowing extracts from a correspondence with Mrs, Wirt. The 
enemy had captured Washington on the 24th of August. The 
British fleet had descended the Potomac River, and was now in 
the Chesapeake Bay. Its destination remained unknown in Rich- 
mond, until the movement on Baltimore became apparent. The 
failure on Baltimore, on the 12th and 13th of September, animated 
the hopes of the people living in the vicinity of the Chesapeake, 



CHAP. XXI.] CAMP LIFE. 377 



and increased Ihcir confidence in their power to repel an attack 
on any other point. A camp was formed below Richmond, on the 
York River, at a place known as Warrenigh Church. "Wirt was 
there, a captain of artillery, in command of a battalion. 
These extracts supply some incidents of camp life. 

Warrenigh, September 9, 1814. 

" Your most seasonable supply, under convoy of our man Ran- 
dal, came in last evening". The starving Israelites were not more 
gladdened by the arrival of quails and manna, than we were by 
the salutation of Randal. The fish would have been a superb 
treat, had there been such an article as a potato in this poverty- 
stricken land. And yet the parish, according to the old inscrip- 
tions, is called ' Bliss-Land.' — The church was built in 1709. 

" The British fleet are said to have descended the bay, or to be 
now doing so. There was a seventy-four at the mouth of York 
River, day before yesterday. She weighed anchor, yesterday, 
and went up the bay." 

September 12. 

" Your kindness and thoughtfulness has filled my camp with 
luxury. I fear we shall have no opportunity to become memo- 
rable for any thing but our good living — for I begin to believe that 
the enemy will not attempt Richmond. They are said to have 
gone up the bay on some enterprise. If they are hardy enough 
to make an attempt on Baltimore, there is no knowing what they 
may not attempt. We are training twice a day, which does'nt well 
agree with our poor horses. We have a bad camping ground — 
on a flat which extends two miles to the river — the water is not 
good and the men are sickly. I shall want a tent, — about which 
Cabell must interest himself Let the materials be good, and have 
it made under Pryor's direction." 

September 13. 

" An express this morning tells us that five square-rigged vessels 
are at the mouth of York River. It is conjectured that the British 
fleet is coming down the bay. Their object of course, is only 
guess. Their position indicates equally an ascent of York or 
James River, or an attack on Norfolk, or a movement to sea to 
intercept Decatur's squadron. 
VOL. 1—32* 



378 CAMP LIFE. [1814. 

September 16. 
" A letter last night from Cabell, with a good tent and some 
clothes — for which I beg you to thank him," 

September 19. 

" The struggle, I now believe, will be a short one. The invin- 
cibles of Wellington, are found to be vincible, and are melting 
away by repeated defeats. The strongest blows they have been 
striking have been aimed only at the power to dictate a peace. 
A few more such repulses as they met at Baltimore, will extin- 
guish that lofty hope, and we shall have a peace on terms hon- 
orable to us. 

" We have heard nothing from them since they left Baltimore : 
so that they cannot be yet coming this way, — and we are at a loss 
to conjecture what they are at. 

■•'Our volunteers are becoming disorderly for want of an enemy 
to cope with. Quarrels, arrests, courts-martial, are beginning to 
abound. I have had several reprimands to pronounce at the head 
of my company, in compliance with the sentence of the courts. 
To one of these, James, our man, held the candle — it being dark 
at the time; — and when 1 finished and turned round, the black ras- 
cal w^as in a broad grin of delight. I was near laughing myself 
at so unexpected a spectacle. My men are all anxious to return 
home: — constant applications for furloughs, in which Col. Ran- 
dolph indulges them liberally. At present, I have not more than 
men enough to man two guns. One of my sergeants deserted this 
morning; — another will be put under arrest presently. So much 
grumbling about rations, — about the want of clothes, — about their 
^vives, — their business, debts, sick children, &c., &c., — that if I 
get through this campaign in good temper, 1 shall be proof against 
all the cares of a plantation, even as Cabell depicts them. 

" I am perpetually interrupted by the complaints of my 

men. Yet I do well, and if they leave me men enough I shall be 
prepared for a fight in a few days. We expect the enemy some- 
where in Virginia, to avenge their discomfiture at Baltimore." 

September 26. 
" Still at Warrenigh, and less probability of an enemy than 
ever. We are doing nothing but drilling, firing national salutes 



CHAP. XXI.] DISCONTENTS OF THE MILITIA. 379 



tor recent victories, listenino- to the everlasting and growing dis- 
contents of the men, and trying their quarrels before courts- 
martial. I have endeavored to give satisfaction to my company, 
so far as I could compatibly with discipline. My success, I fear, 
has been limited. In addition to their rations, which have been 
very good and abundant, I have distributed to the sick, with a lib- 
eral hand, the comforts which your kindness had supplied. The 
company is well provided with tents and cooking utensils, yet 
they murmur incessantly. Such are volunteer militia Avhen taken 
from their homes, and put on camp duty. One source of their 
inquietude is, that they thought they were coming down merely 
for a fight, and then to return. Being kept on the ground, after 
the expectation of a battle has vanished, and not knowing how 
long they are to remain — looking every day for their discharge — 
they are enduring the pain of hope deferred, and manifest their 
disquiet in every form. Of such men, in such a slate of mind, in 
such a service, I am getting heartily sick. 

****** 

" I was never in better health, and were my men contented, I 
should be in high spirits. As it is, I shall bear up and discharge 
my duty with a steady hand. * * * 

Frank Gilmer, Jefferson Randolph, the Carrs, Upshur, and 
others, have got tired of waiting for the British, and gone home. 
David Watson is the only good fellow that remains with us. He 
is a major, quartered at Abner Tyne's, — messes with us, — takes 
six pinches of snuff to my one, which he thrusts two inches up his 
bellows nostrils, and smiles at the luxury of the effort. He is an 
excellent fellow, and has spouted almost all Shakspeare to us. 
You remember him as a contributor to the Old Bachelor. He, 
my second captain, Lambert, and my second lieutenant, Dick, 
make admirable company for me." 

September 28. 

" The Blues at Montpelier are suffering much from sickness. 
Murphy, your brother John and his friend Blair are all down. 
The other companies are almost unofficered — the men very sickly. 
I strongly suspect that if we are kept much longer hovering over 
these marshes, our soldiers will fall like the grass that now covers 
them. We hope to be ordered in a few days to Richmond. It 
is believed on every hand that tlie British, with their mutinous and 



380 END OF THE CAMPAIGN. [1814. 

deserting troops, will not attempt a march on Richmond through 
the many defiles, swamps, thickets and forests that line the road, 
where, besides the abundant opportunities for desertion, nature 
has formed so many covers for our riflemen and infantry. * 

* * * If we should be ordered to Richmond, I 
have no idea that my company will be discharged. It will be 
kept there ready to march at a moment's warning." 

Here ends the campaign of Captain Wirt, and with it the last 
of his military aspirations. This little piece of history is a faith- 
ful transcript of some of the most characteristic incidents of 
militia warfare in nearly all the service of the war of 1812. 

" I would not," says the author of this brief diary, in a subse- 
quent letter to Mrs. W., " with my present feelings and opinions, 
accept of any military commission the United States could confer. 

* * I will be a private citizen as long as I can see 
that, by being so, I shall be of use towards maintaining those who 
are dependent upon me •, holding myself ever ready for my coun- 
try's call in time of need. * * * * 

" We shall soon see whether Lord Hill, who is expected on 
the coast with fourteen thousand men, will single out Virginia for 
his operations. My own impression is that he goes to the relief 
of Canada, which feels itself in danger from our recent successes 
there." 



Some business for a friend now took him to Washington. It 
was in October of this year — 1814. Congress was in session. 
The Capitol w^as in ruins, having been burnt by the enemy in 
August. The President's house was in the same condition. There 
were other vestiges of the ravage of the late visitation of General 
Ross and Admiral Cockburn. 



TO MRS. WIRT. 

Georgetown. D. C, October \4, 1814. 

« 

" Here I am at Crawford's. * * I am surrounded 

by a vast crowd of Legislators and gentlemen of the Turf, 
assembled here for the races which are to commence to-morrow. 
The races ! — amid the ruins and desolation of Washington. 



CHAP. XXL] VISIT TO WASHINGTON. 381 



" We reached here on Friday niglit. On Saturday, after 
washing off tlie dust of the journey, I sallied forth to the War 
Office, my business being with Colonel Monroe. He was not 
there. I went to look at the ruins of the President"'s house. The 
rooms which you saw so richly furnished, exhibited nothing but 
unroofed naked walls, cracked, defaced and blackened with fire. 
I cannot tell you what 1 felt as I walked amongst them. * 
* From this mournful monument of American imbecility and 

improvidence, and of British atrocity, I went to the lobby of the 
House of Representatives, — a miserable little narrow box, in 
which I was crowded and suffocated for about three hours, in 
order to see and hear the wise men of the nation. They are 
no great things. At five, to Monroe's, and was cordially received 
by him. 

* . * * * * * * 

" Last night I went to church and heard a Mr. Inglis of Balti- 
more, deliver what I should call — not a sermon — but a very ele- 
gant oration in a theatrical style. The composition was rich, but 
I thought out of place ; his manner still more so. * * 

" P and I called on the President. He looks miserably 

shattered and wo-begone. In short, he looked heart-broken. His 
mind is full of the New England sedition. He introduced the 
subject and continued to press it, — painful as it obviously was to 
him. I denied the probability, even the possibility that the 
yeomanry of the North could be induced to place themselves 
under the power and protection of England, and diverted the 
conversation to another topic ; but he took the first opportunity to 
return to it, and convinced me that his heart and mind were pain- 
fully full of the subject. 

" The arrival of a despatch gave us an opportunity to retire. 
He invited us to dine with him, but we declined, having planned 
an excursion to Bladensburg, and, perhaps, Baltimore. * * 
We then went to the War office. The Secretary kept me 
engaged in political conversation till four o'clock. By this deten- 
tion, I lost a speech of the celebrated Webster, which I would not 
have lost for all the Secretary's eloquence. To-day, I go in the 
hope of hearing Pickering, — having declined the Bladensburg trip, 
in consequence of the importance of the debate. Tell Cabell to 
prepare for the tax : the direct tax will certainly be increased one 
hundred per cent. * * ^ hundred thousand regulars^ 



382 FIRST ENGAGEMENT IN THE SUPREME COURT. [1814. 

and from twenty to thirty thousand provisional troops will be 
raised for defensive and offensive war. The war in Canada will 
be pushed with vigor. War between France and England is 
expected by the high powers here ; — on what grounds I have 
not learned." 

This visit to the city of Washington was the commencement of 
a long and intimate connection with affairs, both professional and 
political, on that theatre. Wirt was now about to become a 
practitioner in the Supreme Court. In a letter to Carr, dated 
Richmond 10th of December, he refers to an engagement which 
may possibly bring him into a trial of strength with one whom 
he afterwards met in many a contest, and whose name at that 
day gave to the American bar its most brilliant light. This trial 
did not take place as soon as expected, but was deferred for 
another year. In the extract from this letter, which follows, we 
may see that the writer's mind has been touched by some presage 
of a connection with public life. 

" Government, my friend, is but an up-hill work at best ; and, 
not least perhaps, this elective government of ours, where the 
public good is the last thing thought of by the Legislator — his 
own re-election being the first. What a stormy life is this of the 
politician ! What hardness of ner,ve, what firmness of mind and 
steadiness of purpose does it require to sit composedly at the 
helm, and ably at the same time ! Give me a life of literary 
ease ! This is, perhaps, an ignoble wish ; but it is, still, mine. 
Let those who enjoy public life ride in the whirlwind ! I covet 
not their honors, — although, if necessary, I would not shrink from 
the duty. 

I have some expectation of going to Washington in February, 
to plead a cause. The preliminaries are not quite settled. 
Should they be so to my satisfaction, will you meet me there .'' I 
shall be opposed to the Attorney General, and, perhaps, to 
PiNKNEY. ' The blood more stirs to rouse the lion than to hunt 
the hare.' I should like to meet them." 

Mr. Pinkney had resigned the post of Attorney General after 
holding it about two years, and was succeeded, in February 1814, 



CHAP. XXI.] EXPECTED CONTEST IN IT. 383 

by Mr. Rush. We may note in the closing aspiration of this 
last extract, as a curious coincidence, that this wish is breathed 
by one who was destined to become the Attorney General, and 
whose ambition was to meet in debate the combined powers of 
one who had been, and another who was then, the occupant of 
that high post in the Government. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

1815-1816. 

VISITS WASHINGTON TO ATTEND THE COURT RETURNS.— PEACE RE- 
STORED BY THE TREATY OF GHENT LETTER TO GILMER.- RESUMES THE 

BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY DIFFICULTIES OF THIS WORK SCANTINESS OP 

MATERIAL.— THE AUTHOR WEARY OF IT LETTER TO CARR ON THE SUB- 
JECT— DABNEY CARR THE ELDER.— THE ORIGIN OF THE CONTINENTAL 
CONGRESS.— PETER CARR — LETTERS TO CARR AND GILMER.— GEORGE HAY 

RESIGNS THE POST OF DISTRICT ATTORNEY WIRT RECOMMENDS UPSHUR 

TO THE PRESIDENT MODERATION OF POLITICAL FEELING —MR. MADISON 

APPOINTS WIRT TO THE OFFICE.— CORRESPONDENCE IN REFERENCE TO 
THIS APPOINTMENT MAKES HIS DEBUT IN THE SUPREME COURT— EN- 
COUNTERS PINKNEY.— HIS OPINION OF PINKNEY.— LETTER TO GILMER.— 
LETTER TO CARR ON "THE PATH OF PLEASURE," AND HIS OPINION OF 

THIS DRAMATIC ATTEMPT CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON ON 

THE SUBJECT OP THE BIOGRAPHY.— LETTER TO RICHARD MORRIS. 

Wirt repaired to Washington soon after the date of the last 
letter. It seems, however, that the opportunity for his debut in 
the Supreme Court was postponed. He remained a few weeks 
at the capital, amused with the scenes it presented to him, and 
employing his time in extending his acquaintance with public men. 

Early in 1815, peace was restored by the Treaty of Ghent, 
and a universal joy filled the heart of the country. Every one 
thought of getting " back to busy life again" — happy that the 
stagnation to industry, the waste of war and all the disorders of 
interrupted peace were to give place to the orderly pursuit of 
personal interests. Wirt shared in this sentiment as warmly as 
any one, and betook himself with fresh ardor to his customary 
labors. 

We have here, another letter of professional admonition to his 
young friend. 



€HAP. XXIL] LETTER TO GILMER. 385 



TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, July 23, 1815. 
Mv Dear Francis : 

We thank you for your affectionate favor of the 17th, from Al- 
bemarle. Providence, I believe, is ordering every thing for the 
best for you. I do not know that we have much occasion to 
regret the disappointment of this trip of yours to Europe. Our 
friend Coalter is vociferous against it — and let me tell you, that 
his judgment is as solid as his native mountains, and moreover, 
that he takes a strong interest in your prosperity. You lose by it, 
imagination? Create Dr. Johnson's ideal rival of perfection in 
the view of European models ; but can you not supply them by 
your own mind, and compete with it .? The which ideal rival is 
only Cicero's aliquid immcnsum, &c. You are to bear in mind, 
that we all have our eyes and our liopes upon you. You are 
to remember that glory is not that easy kind of inheritance which 
the law will cast upon you, without any effort of your own ; but 
that you are to work for it and fight for it, with the patient per- 
severance of a Hercules. You are also to bear in mind, that the 
friends who know and love you, and acknowledge your talents, 
are not the world. That in regard to the world, upon which you 
are entering, you are unknown; that with them you have to make 
your way, as a perfect stranger. And that it is not by the display 
of your general science, that the herd is to be caught ; but by 
the dexterity with which you handle your, professional tools, and 
the power which you evince to serve your clients in your trade. 
Now, the law depends on such a system of unnatural reasoning, 
that your natural reasoning, however strong, will not serve the 
turn. It is true, that when you once understand this artificial 
foundation, your natural reason will avail you much in applying 
it, and measuring the superstructure. 

But, in the first place, you must read, sir : — You must read and 
meditate, like a Conastoga horse, — no disparagement to the horse 
by the simile. You must read like Jefferson, and speak like 
Henry. If you ask me how you are to do this, / cannot tell you, 
but you are nevertheless to do it. There is one thing which I 
believe I have not mentioned to you, more than about five hundred 
VOL. 1—33 



386 PROFESSIONAL DEMEANOR. [1815-18I«- 



times, which you arc constantly to attend to — and in this you must 
respect my advice and follow it: let you debut be a decisive 
one ! ! ! Don't make your first appearance in a trifling case. Get 
yourself cither by a fee, or voluntarily, into the most important 
cause that is to be tried in Winchester, at the fall term. Let it be 
such a cause as will ensure you a throng of hearers : — master the 
cause in all its points, of fact and law; digest a profound, compre- 
hensive, simple, and glowing speech for the occasion — not stramed 
beyond the occasion, nor beyond the capacity of your audience ; — 
and make upon the world the impression of strength, of vigor, of 
great energy, combined with a fluent, animated, nei-vous elocu- 
tion ; no puerile, out-of-the-way, far-fetched, or pedantic orna- 
ments or illustrations, but simple, strong, and mayily — level your- 
self \.o the capacity o^ your hearers, and insinuate yourself among 
the heart-strings, the bones and marrow, both of your jury and 
back-bar hearers. I say jury — because I fear that a chancery 
cause, although it affords the best means of preparation, will give 
you no audience at all ; and I want you to blow your first blast, 
before a full concourse, both loud and shrill : — and hereof, I think, 
gentle reader, this little taste may suffice. 

Your notions of your indulgence in general science, are correct. 
Don't quit them — but let them be subordinate to the law. By-lhe- 
way, there is one thing I had like to have forgotten. One of the 
most dignified traits in the character of Henry, is the noble decorum 
with which he debated, and uniform and marked respect with 
which he treated his adversaries. I am a little afraid of you in 
this particular; for you are a wit, and a satirist — God help you! 
Take care, take care, take care of this propensity. It will make 
you enemies, pull a bee-hive on your head, and cover your fo- 
rensic path with stings and venom. I pray you, aim at masking 
yourself with Henry's distinguished character for decorum. Let 
it be universally agreed, tliat you are the most polite, gentlemanly 
debater at the bar. That alone will give you a distinction — and a 
noble one too; besides it is a striking index, and proper con- 
comitant of first rate talents. 

Don't forget your promise in regard to Mr. Jefferson, and the 
gallery of portraits. # # # # 

Continue to write to me. Heaven bless you. 

Wm. Wiet. 



CHAP. XXII.] THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENR.Y. 387 

At this time the biography of Henry was resumed with a stout 
resolve to bring it to a conclusion. We Iiave abundant evidence 
that this had already grown to be a most irksome labor. 

The following letter to Carr playfully presents (he difficulties 
of this undertaking, and shows how reluctantly Wirt struggled 
with his task. It contains also an allusion to Dabney Carr, the 
father of his friend, and the compatriot of Henry, — a gentleman 
most favorably known in the short legislative career to which we 
have heretofore adverted, and whose early death had blighted the 
promise of a fair renown. 

Mr. James Webster, of Philadelphia, to whom also this letter 
has a reference, was already engaged as the publisher of the forth- 
coming volume, and had made some announcements of it to the 
public, which, it will be seen, had served to augment the author's 
disrelish of his enterprise. 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, August 20, 1815. 
My Dear Friend : 

Now for Patrick Henry. I have delved on to my one hundred 
and seventh page; up-hill all the way, and heavy work, I promise 
you ; and a heavy and unleavened lump I fear me it will be, work 
it as I may. I can tell you, sir, that it is much the most oppres- 
sive literary enterprise that ever I embarked in, and I begin to 
apprehend that 1 shall never debark from it without " rattling 
ropes and rending sails." I write in a storm, and a worse tempest, 
I fear, will follow its publication. Let me give you some idea of 
my difficulties. Imprimis, then, — I always thought that Bozzy 
ranted, in complaining so heavily of the infinite difficulty and 
trouble which he had to encounter in fixing accurately the dates 
of trivial facts ; but I now know by woful experience that Bozzy 
was right. And, in addition to the dates, I have the facts them- 
selves to collect. I thought I had them all ready cut and dry, and 
sat down with all my statements of correspondents spread out 
before me ; a pile of old journals on my right, and another of old 
newspapers on my left, thinking that I had nothing else to do but 
as Lingo says, " to saddle Pegasus, and ride up Parnassus." Such 



388 THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. [1815—1816. 



short-sightedness is there in " all the schemes o' mice and men : " 
for I found, at every turn of Henry's life, that I had to stop 
and let fly a volley of letters over the State, in all directions, to 
collect dates and explanations, and try to reconcile contradictions. 
Meantime, until they arrived, " I kept sowing on." 

In the next place, this same business of staling facts with rigid 
precision, not one jot more or less than the truth — what the deuce 
has a lawyer to do with truth ! To tell you one truth, however, 
I find that it is entirely a new business to me, and I am propor- 
tionately awkward at it ; for after I have gotten the facts accu- 
rately, they are then to be narrated happily; and the style of 
narrative, fettered by a scrupulous regard to real facts, is to me 
the most difficult in the world. It is like attempting to run, tied 
up in a bag. My pen wants perpetually to career and frolic it 
away. But it must not be. I must move like Sterne's mule over 
the plains of Languedoc, " as slow as foot can fall," and that, too, 
without one vintage frolic with Nanette on the green, or even the 
relief of a mulberry tree to stop and take a pinch of snufl" at. I was 
very sensible, when I began, that I was not in the narrative gait. 
I tried it over and over again, almost as often as Gibbon did to 
hit the key-note, and without his success. I determined, therefore, 
to move forward, in hopes that my palfrey would get broke by 
degrees, and learn, by-and-bye, to obey the slightest touch of the 
snatfle. But I am now, as I said, in my hundred and seventh page, 
which, by an accurate computation, on the principles of Cocker, 
taking twenty-four sheets to the quire, and four pages to each 
sheet, you will find to exceed a quire by eleven. And yet am I 
as far to seek, as ever, for the lightsome, lucid, simple graces of 
narrative. You may think this aff'ectation, if you please, or you 
may think it jest ; but the dying confession of a felon under the 
gallows (no disparagement to him !) is not more true, nor much 
more mortifying. 

Tertio: The incidents of Mr. Henry's life are extremely monoto- 
nous. It is all speaking, speaking, speaking. 'Tis irue he could 
talk : — " Gods ! how he could talk !" but there is no acting " the 
while." From the bar to the legislature, and from the legislature 
to the bar, his peregrinations resembled, a good deal, those of 
some one, I forget whom, — perhaps some of our friend Tristram's 
cljaracters, " from the kitchen to the parlor, and from the parlor 



CHAP. XXII.] ITS DIFFICULTIES. 389 



to the kitchen." And then, to make ihe matter worse, from 17G3 
to 1789, covering all the bloom and pride of his life, not one of 
his speeches lives in print, writing or memory. All that is told 
me is, that, on such and such an occasion, he made a distinguished 
speech. Now to keep saying this over, and over, and over again, 
without being able to give any account of what the speech was, — 
why, sir, what is it but a vast, open, sun-burnt field without one spot 
of shade or verdure ? My soul is weary of it, and the days have 
come in wliich I can say that I have no pleasure in them. I have 
sometimes a notion of trying the plan of Botta, who has written an 
account of the American war, and made speeches himself for his 
prominent characters, imitating, in this, the historians of Greece 
and Rome ; but I think with Polybius, that this is making too free 
with the sanctity of history. Besides, Henry's eloquence was all 
so completely sui generis as to be inimitable by any other : and to 
make my chance of imitating him still worse, I never saw or 
heard him. Even the speeches published in the debates of the 
Virginia convention are affirmed by all my correspondents, not to 
be his, but to lall far short of his strength and beauty. Yet, in 
spite of all this monotony and destitution of materials, we have a 
fellow coming out in the Analectic Magazine, or the Baltimore 
Commercial Advertiser, I forget which, — for both have been at it,- — 
exciting the public expectation on this very ground, among others, 
of the copiousness and variety of the materials within my reach. 
Those puffs mean me well, but I could wish them a little more 
judgment. 

Again : there are some ugly traits in H's character, and 
some pretty nearly as ugly blanks. He was a blank military 
commander, a blank governor, and a blank politician, in all those 
useful points which depend on composition and detail. In short, 
it is, verily, as hopeless a subject as man could well desire. I 
have dug around it, and applied all the plaister of Paris that I 
could command ; but the fig-tree is still barren, and every bud 
upon it indicates death instead of life. " Then, surely you mean 
to give it up ?" On the contrary^ I assure you, sir: I have stept 
in so deep, that I am determined, like Macbeth, to go dn^ 
though Henry, like Duncan, should bawl out to me, " Sleep no 
more!" I do not mean that I am determined to publish., No, 
sir, unless I can mould it into a grace, and breathe into it a spirit 
VOL. 1—33* 



390 DABNEY CARR THE ELDER. [1815—1816. 

which I have never yet been able to do, it shall never see the 
light; Mr. Webster's proposals to the contrary notwithstanding. 
But what I have determined upon is to go on as rapidly as I can, to 
embody all the facts : then, reviewing the whole, to lay it off into 
sections, by epochs, on Middleton's plan ; and taking up the first 
section, to make a last and dying effort upon it per se. If 1 fail, I 
surrender my sword : if otherwise, I shall go forth, section after 
section, conquering and to conquer. And if the public forgive me 
this time, I will promise never to make a similar experiment on 
their good nature again. 

With regard to your father. (Dabney Carr,) I had predeter- 
mined to interweave the fact you mention. Judge Tucker has 
furnished me the incident. " It was at this time, February 1772," 
says the Judge, " that Mr. Carr made a motion to appoint stand- 
ing commitlees of correspondence with the other colonies, on the 
subject of the act of Parliament imposing duties on glass, oil and 
painters' colors." The appointment of committees of safety took 
place in 1775, after the organization of the old Congress, to 
which, you say, your father's motion led. In regard to the com- 
mittees of correspondence with the other colonies, Judge Marshall 
gives Massachusetts the credit of the invention; though, I suspect, 
what Massachusetts did invent, — ^judging from MarshalTs note 10, 
cited page 149 of his second volume, — was nothing more than town 
committees w^ithin that colony,* and that the credit of committees 
of correspondence connecting the Colonies, really belongs to Vir- 
ginia. 1 shall communicate with Marshall on this subject, and 
wish you would do so with Mr. Jefferson. I sliould myself write 
to this latter gentleman, but I have already written to him so often 
and so much, in the course of my troubles with Patrick, that I 
am really ashamed to annoy him farther, though I have much and 
frequent occasion for it. 

I wish I knew something more specifically of your father's cast 
of character, in order that I might take this opportunity of giving 

• This point, upon further investigation, was sctlled in the establishment of an 
equal claim on the part of the two States to the origination of the committees. Id 
the Life of Henry, page S7, the author asserts in a note : " The measures were so 
nearly coeval in the two States, as to have rendered it impossible that either could 
have borrowed it from the other. The messengers who bore the propositions froia 
the two States are said to have crossed each other on the way." 



CHAP. XXII.l A SKETCH OF HIM. 391 

him the best niche tiiat my poor jaded pen could form. I have 
only a general impression that he was much such a man as it is 
easy to conceive your brother Peter* would have been, had his 
industry and enterprise been equal to his genius. Open, noble, 
magnanimous; bold, ardent, and eloquent; with a mind rather 
strong than acute ; rather comprehensive and solid in his views, 
than remarkable for subtilty of discrimination ; disposed and 
qualified to lay hold of and plant himself on great principles, 
rather than to run divisions among minutiae; with an understanding 
highly cultivated, a rich imagination, a refined and classical taste, 
a full and melodious voice, and a copious command of the most 
pure and nervous language. If this would be saying too much or 
too little, let me be corrected, for I have set out with the purpose 
of telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, at 
least in this book; though I should be very unwilling that the 
world should know how awkward I am at it, and how much pain 
I have in the delivery, for they would certainly discover that it is 
my first operation of the kind ; nor should I be astonished if some 
rascally reviewer, should make just this very remaik; which being 
true, would be no joke at all to me, and might make every body 
else laugh except " Mr. Callender's counsel." 

Webster vexes me not a little by the style of his proposals, 
tacking to my name, " Author of the British Spy." His motive 
is obvious enough ; but the world will consider it as my act, 
and think it a vanity, — which I abhor. Again, he adds in his 

• Peter Carr here alluded to, and whose character is portrayed in such terms of 
discriminate praise, was the eldest brother, as we have seen, of the Judge. He had 
died but a few months before this date. There is a touching allusion to this event 
in a letter to Judge Carr, written almost immediately after it. 

" His soul, I hope, is happier even than it was on earth. It is among the 
articles of my creed that he is an unseen witness of our sorrow for his loss. 
Nothing remains for us, my dear friend, but to remember him, to love him, and to 
gratify his spirit, if it be conscious of what passes on eartli, by drawing closer in 
our affections for each other. Some one friend or other is continually dropping 
from us ; and this must be the case while we remain in this state of being. Let us, 
then, who are permitted to survive, endeavor to repair these heart-rending losses, 
by loving each other more dearly, and clinging more closely together. 

" I am not a misanthrope, yet I fear it is not often that we shall meet with men 
worthy to succeed, in our affections, to those whom we have lost ; or to become 
partners in that friendship which binds the few survivors together." 



S92 LITERARY REPUTATION. [1815—1816. 

proposals to the Life of Henry, " together with several of his 
s[)eeches." Now his only authority for this is that I told him I had 
once seen Henry's "speech on the British debts" in nnanuscript 
taken by a stenographer, and might perhaps be able to get it 
again. He will disappoint the public in this particular. 

Hark ye, — does not Fame depend on the vniUilude of readers 
and approvers ? I mean literary fame. And if so, what kind of 
works, on what kind of subjects give a man the fairest chance for 
this aforesaid fame .-' 

Now, put on your considering cap and get upon your wool-sack. 
I ask again, now that you are seated, and your " head like a 
smoke-jack," what kind of writings embrace the widest circle 
of readers and bid the fairest to flourish in never-fading bloom ? 
Answer : Well-written works of imagination. If you say politi- 
cal works, count the readers of Locke and Sidney, and compare 
them with those of Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope. If 
you choose to come down to the present day, compare the readers 
of Hamilton and Madison with those of Walter Scott and Lord 
Byron. If you choose to institute the comparison between grave 
history and the lighter works of imagination, you will find tea 
to one in favor of the latter. Robertson's Charles Fifth, for 
example, and Tristram Shandy. 

I am not speaking of the grade or quality of this fame, but 
of the spread, the propagation and continuity of the article. 
" But I would rather have a small quantity of the first grade than a 
large quantity of the second." Perhaps you would. All I shall 
say about it is, de guslibus non est dispuUindum. I would rather 
have a thousand dollars in bank notes earned by innocent pleasure, 
than a hundred guineas in gold, procured by marshing and 
ditching. 

Besides, as to the grade itself, I am not quite so clear that the 
man of whom it was truly said, 

" Each change of many-colored life he drew. 
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new," 

docs not deserve a fame as high and rich as the man who relates 
successfully the crimes of nations, or disentangles ever so dex- 
terously the political skein. This being the case, suppose a man 



CHAP. XXir.] LETTER TO GILMER. 393 



to write for fame, what course should he take .? What says the 
chancellor.? More especially if the writer be so encumbered by 
a profession as to have only a few transient snatches of leisure 
which he can devote to literary pursuits. You see wliat I am 
driving at, I presume,— and " thereiore there needs no more to be 
said here." 

******* 
We unite cordially in love, 

Yours, ever, 

Wm. Wirt. 



TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, August 29, 1815. 
My Dear Francis: 

I received last night your letter of the 15th inst., announcing 
your arrival at Winchester, and thank you for this early attention 
to my anxiety for your welfare. We have you at last fairly pitted 
on the arena, — stripped, oiled, your joints all lubricated — your 
muscles braced — your nerves strung ; and I hope, that ere long 
we shall hear you have taken the victim bull by the horn, with 
your left hand, 

durosque reducta 



Libravit dextra media inter cornua caestus 
Arduus, effractoque illisit in ossa cerebro. 
Sternitur, exanimisque tremens procumbit humi bos. 

I perceive that you are going to work, pell mell, nee mora, 
nee requies : — that's your sort — give it to them thicker and faster! 

Nunc dextra ingeminans citus, nunc ille sinistra. 

It is this glow and enthusiasm of enterprise that is to carry you 
to the stars. But then bear in mind, that it is a long journey to 
the stars, and that they are not to be reached per sallum. " Perse- 
verando Vinces," ought to be your motto — and you should write it 
in the first page of every book in your library. Ours is not a pro- 
fession, in which a man gets along by a hop, step and a jump. It 
is the steady march of a heavy armed legionary soldier. This 
armor you have yet, in a great measure, to gain ; to learn how to 



S94 RULES FOR BUSINESS. [1815-1816. 

put it on ; to wear it without fatigue ; to figlit in it with ease, and 
use every piece of it to the best advantage. I am against your 
extending your practice tlierefore, to too many courts, in the 
beginning. I would not wish you to plunge into an extensive 
practice at once. It will break up your reading, and prevent you 
from preparing properly for that higher theatre which you ought 
always to keep intently in your mind's eye. 

For two or three years, you must read, sir — read — read — 
delve — meditate — study — and make the whole mine of the law 
your own. For two or three years, I had much rather that your 
appearances should be rare and splendid, than frequent, light and 
vapid, like those of the young country practitioners about you. 

Let me use the privilege of my age and experience to give 
you a few hints, which, now that you are beginning the practice, 
you may find not useless. 

1. Adopt a system of life, as to business and exercise; and 
never deviate from it, except so far as you may be occasionally 
forced by imperious and uncontrollable circumstances. 

2. Live in your office ; i. e. be always seen in it except at the 
hours of eating or exercise, 

3. Answer all letters as soon as they are received ; you know 
not how many heart-aches it may save you. Then fold neatly, 
endorse neatly, and file away neatly, alphabetically, and by the 
year, all the letters so received. Let your letters on business be 
short, and keep copies of them, 

4. Put every law paper in its place, as soon as received ; and 
let no scrap of paper be seen lying for a moment, on your writing 
chair or tables. This will strike the eye of every man of busi- 
ness who enters. 

5. Keep regular accounts of every cent of income and expen- 
diture, and file your receipts neatly, alphabetically, and by the 
montii, or at least by the year, 

6. Be patient with your foolish clients, and hear all their tedious 
circumlocution and repetitions with calm and kind attention; cross 
examine and sift them, 'till you know all the strength and weak- 
ness of their cause, and take notes of it at once whenever you 
can do so. 



CtlAP. XXII.] RULES FOR BUSINESS. 395 



7. File your bills in Chancery at tlie moment of ordering tlie 
suit, and while your client is yet with you to correct your state- 
ment of his case ; also prepare every declaration the moment the 
suit is ordered, and have it ready to tile. 

8. Cultivate a simple style of speaking, so as to be able to inject 
the strongest thought into the weakest capacity. You will never 
be a good jury lawyer without this faculty. 

9. Never attempt to be grand and magnificent before common 
tribunals; — and the most you will address are common. The 

neglect of this principle of common sense lias ruined witli 

all men of sense. 

10. Keep your Latin and Greek, and science to yourself, and to 
tliat very small circle which they may suit. The mean and envious 
world will never forgive you your knowledge, if you make it too 
public. It will require the most unceasing urbanity and habitual 
gentleness of manners, almost to humility, to make your superior 
attainments tolerable to your associates. 

11. Enter with warmth and kindness into the interestin": con- 
cerns of others — whether you care much for them or not ; — not 
with the condescension of a superior, but with the tenderness and 
simplicity of an equal. It is this benevolent trait which makes 

and such universal favorites — and, more than any thing 

else, has smoothed my own path of life, and strewed it with 
flowers. 

12. Be never flurried in speaking, but learn to assume the ex- 
terior of composure and self-collectedness, whatever riot and con- 
fusion may be within; speak slowly, firmly, distinctly, and mark 
your periods by proper pauses, and a steady significant look: — 
" Trick !" True, — but a good trick, and a sensible trick. 

You talk of complimenting your adversaries. Take care of 
your manner of doing this. Let it be humble and sincere, and 
not as if you thought it was in your power to give them impor- 
tance by your fiat. You see how natural it is for old men to 
preach, and how much easier to preach than to practice. Yet 
you must not slight my sermons, for I wish you to be much greater 
than I ever was or can hope to be. Our friend Carrwill tell you 
that my maxims are all sound. Practise them, and I will warrant 
your success. You have more science and literature than I ; — but 
I know a good deal more of the world and of life, and it will ba 



596 JUDGE CARR'S SUCCESS. [1815—1816. 

much cheaper for you to profit by my experience and miscarriages 
than by your own. Nothing is so apt to tincture the manners 
of a young man with hauteur, and with a cold and disdainful 
indifference towards others, as conscious superiority ; and nothing 
is so fatal to his progress through life, as such a tincture : witness 

. My friend himself, is not without some ill effect from 

it; and since you must feel this superiority, I cannot be without 
fear of its usual effects. 

You must not suppose because I give you precepts on particular 
subjects, that I have observed you deficient in these respects ; on 
the contrary, it is only by way of prevention ; and whether my 
precepts are necessary to you or not, you are too well assured of 
my affection, to take them otherwise than in good part. Fare- 
well — my letters shall not all be lectures. 

Yours affectionately, 

Wm. Wirt. 

to judge carr. 

Richmond, January 12, 1816. 
My Ever Dear Friend : 

I have, indeed, had a tough spell through the latter part of the 
fall. It was the effect, I believe, of a very severe cold which I 
feared, at one time, had fallen on my lungs, from the ugly and 
obstinate cough which attended it ; and there were times, I con- 
fess, when the apprehension of being taken from my family just 
when my toils and plans seemed ripening to a harvest of inde- 
pendence for them, depressed me rather more than become a phi- 
losopher or a christian, — which, however much I wish, I fear I 
shall never approach nearer, than a few transient aspirations. 

As for Patrick, — he is the very toughest subject that I ever 
coped withal. If I have any knack at all in writing, it is in copy- 
ing after nature : not merely in drawing known characters, but in 
painting the images in my own mind, and the feelings of my heart. 
In this walk, I have occasionally succeeded almost to my own 
entire satisfaction. But Patrick was altogether terra incognita to 
me. I had never seen him ; and the portraits of him which had 



CHAP XXII.] THE BIOGRAPHY. 397 

been furnished me were so various and contradictory as to seem 
to confound rather than inform me. Hence I have never been 
able to embody him. My imagination found no resting place 
througliout the whole work; but from beginning to end, fluttered 
like Noaii's dove over a dreary waste of waters, without spying 
even a floating leaf of olive, much less of laurel. What I wrote 
without satisfaction, it is reasonable to conclude will be read in 
the same way. Disappointed myself, I am very certain that 1 
shall disappoint others. But this conclusion has now become 
familiar to me, and the pain is over. You are wrong, be assured, 
my dearest friend, in supposing that this work will redound more 
to my fame than any thing I have ever written. It is not every 
subject on which a man can succeed: — "ex quovis ligno,'''^ you 
know. — If I am not mistaken this subject would have been 
found impracticable to any one ; that is, nothing great could have 
been made of it in narrative. A panegyric, and a splendid one, 
too, of a dozen pages might be written on it, but the detail must 
be trivial if the incidents be truly told. In truth, I hate exces- 
sively to be trammelled in writing, by matter of fact. Don't be so 
mischievous as to mistake me. I mean that my habit of compo- 
sition has always been to draw only from my own stores, with 
my fancy and my heart both as free as the winds. Reined in by 
the necessity of detailing stubborn facts, I find that the gaits of 
my Pegasus are all to be formed anew ; for he trots, prances and 
gallops altogether in the same period. If you do not understand 
me now, you must wait 'till I can borrow an exposition from Phi- 
losopher Ogilvie. But before we dismiss Patrick finally, you 
will find in the Port Folio for December, an extract from my biog- 
raphy, furnished at the desire of Hall, the editor, and you will see 
in that extract what has been thought by several, who have read 
the manuscript, one of the happiest passages if not the happiest 
passage, in my book, from which you will judge of the misera- 
bility of the rest. 

No, the work is not in the press. It shall not go until I can 
get leisure to file off some of its asperities. I wish to heaven, you 
could see it! — and it shall go hard, but you shall, before it passes 
to the press ; for I am in no hurry to be damned. 

The candid and sensible reader will, indeed, as you say, allow 
for the subject ; but of the thousands of readers on whom fame 
VOL. 1—34 



398 CONTENTMENT. [1815—1816. 



depends, how many are there, think you, who are sensible and 
candid ? how many will there be, predisposed to dash my thimble- 
full of reputation from my lips ? But enough of this — for if I 
keep prating about it, I shall confirm you in the conjecture that it 
is preying on my spirits, I give you my word that I have not 
said or thought so much about it for two months, as I have since 1 
began to scribble this letter. 

I am now, sir, in full and high health; not quite indeed so 
brimful of expectation as I was when you first knew me, about 
twenty years ago, but still with a reasonable appetite for the good 
things of the world. Disappointed indeed, as to some of my 
calculations of happiness, yet by no means disposed to cry out 
with Solomon, " all is vanity and vexation of spirit." If Solomon 
had had such a wife and children and such friends as I have, he 
would have changed his note. His exclamation upon the vanity 
of all sublunary things, has always struck me rather as the senti- 
ment of a cloyed and sated debauchee, than that of a contem- 
plative philosopher. What vanity or vexation of spirit is there 
in the temperate indulgence of our affections ; in the love-beam 
that plays upon me from the eyes of my wife ; in the untutored 
caresses of my beloved children ; in these tender inquiries from 
the best of friends which lie before me ; or in this tear, which 
the consciousness of these purest of earthly possessions calls into 
my eyes.-' If on subjects of this sort Solomon was wise, let me 
remain a fool. What say you? 

* * * * * * * ' 

My wife and children unite with me in love to your fire-side. 
If you knew what heartfelt pleasure your letters afford me, 
and enjoy the leisure which I hope you do, you would write to 
me soon and often. 

May God bless you and make you happy ! 

Your friend in life and in death, 

Wm. Wirt. 

About this time George Hay, the attorney of the United States 
for the Richmond district, resigned his post. Amongst several 
gentlemen of Virginia whose names were submitted to Mr, Madi- 
son for the appointment to this office, was that of one who sub- 



CHAP. XXII.] MR. UPSHUR. 399 

sequently attained to high distinction in the public councils, and 
whose death acquired a most painful celebrity by its association 
with the melancholy accident on board of the Princeton — Abel 
P. Upshur. He had studied law under the direction of Wirt, 
who now presented him to the President, in terms suggested by 
the highest appreciation of his talents, and by a strong personal 
friendship. This incident is only worthy of notice here, so far as 
Mr. Wirt's letter, on the occasion, allbrds us an insight to the 
abated temper of partizan feeling which had already begun to be 
manifested, and which was an index to that calm and appeased 
political sentiment which prevailed in the administration of public 
affairs for some years succeeding this event. After speaking the 
language of the warmest praise on the merits of his friend, he 
adds, — " It is proper for me to state that he is a Federalist," — but 
to qualify this draw-back, he continues — "he justified the late 
war with Great Britain, and was among the volunteers who 

marched to York Town to meet the enemy. 

* * " I am entirely certain that no differences 

of political sentiment would ever swerve him from his duty, or 
abate, in the smallest degree, the zeal proper for its discharge. 
How far ^ in the 'present condition of the country^ his political creed 
ought to operate as a bar to his appointment^ or whether its tendency 
would not rather be to soothe the exasperation of party, and promote 
that coalescence which is so desirable on every account, and of xchich 
we have such promising omens, it is not for me to decide. I submit 
the proposition with great deference, and rely upon your usual 
indulgence to excuse this liberty." 

This letter to Mr. Madison was written on the 10th of March, 
1816. The writer of it was a little surprised to find, by a letter 
from Mr. Madison to him, dated on the 13th, that the subject 
had been already settled by the selection of himself for the ap- 
pointment. It was an event altogether unlooked for, and equally 
undesired. Coming upon him in this unexpected way, and with 
expressions of the kindest personal interest from the President, 
the appointment somewhat embarrassed him ; but, after delibe- 
rating, he thought it his duty to accept it. 

In communicating this determination to the President, he says, in 
a letter of the 23d of March, — " I beg you to believe me unaffect- 
edly sincere in declaring that there is nothing in the office which 



400 WIRT APPOINTED DISTRICT ATTORNEY. [1815—1816, 



excites any solicitude, on my part, to possess it ; and that I feel 
myself much more highly honored by the terms in which you 
were so good as to make the inquiry, than I should by the pos- 
session of the office itself So far am I, indeed, from being soli- 
citous to possess it, that I assure you, with the frankness which I 
hope our long acquaintance warrants, your bestowing it on any 
one of the many gentlemen of my profession in this State who are, 
at least, equally entitled to it, and stand, perhaps, in greater need 
of it, will not, in the smallest degree, mortify me nor diminish 
the respect and affection with which I am and ever have been your 
friend." 

It was but a few weeks before the date of these letters, that 
Wirt had argued his cause in the Supreme Court, and had 
" broken a lance with Pinkney," — as he himself described it. 

These two gentlemen had here commenced an acquaintance, 
which was afterwards illustrated by many passages of dialectic 
and forensic skill in a course of eager competition and constant 
association in the same forum. No one was more prompt to do 
justice to Pinkney's extraordinary abilities, after the best oppor- 
tunities to observe them, than Wirt. His mature opinion of the 
powers of his great competitor was freely expressed and well 
known in the circle in which they both moved. But Wirt's first 
impressions of him, derived from this trial, are singularly variant 
from those which a more intimate acquaintance afterwards gave 
him. We have a letter to Gilmer, soon after this first encounter, 
which presents a picture of Pinkney, far from flattering. Pinkney 
was, at that time, in the zenith of his fame. He was the chief 
object of interest in the Supreme Court, and the most prominent 
subject of popular criticism. No man ever drew forth a larger 
share of mingled applause and censure, or was visited with more 
exaggerated extremes of opinion. While one class of observers 
saw in his oratory nothing short of the most perfect of forensic 
accomplishment ; another could scarcely find merit enough in his 
best endeavors to rescue them from the utter condemnation to 
which they alleged his dogmatism, false taste and frigid affecta- 
tions entitled them. Impartial and judicious estimate of his power 
and acquirements seems rarely to have been accorded to him. 

We may ascribe these conflicting judgments to some peculiar- 
ities in Pinkney's character and position. At the bar, his port 



CHAP. XXII.] WILLIAM PINKNEY. 401 

towards those who occupied the most eminent station was antago- 
nistical and defiant. He waged with all such an unceasing war 
for supremacy. He gave no ground himself and asked no favors. 
His courtesy in this arena was a mere formula, and rather sug- 
gested conilict than avoided it. His manner was alert and 
guarded, his brow severe, his civilities short and measured, like 
a swordsman in the theatre when the " noble art of defence " 
drew crowds together to witness the trials of skill. All this 
portion of the bar, constituting a most intelligent and critical 
auditory, were the fastidious and unsparing witnesses of his fame, 
and often spoke of him, in no mitigated terms of exception to 
whatever defect of taste or judgment they were able to detect. 
Opposed to these were the younger members of the profession, 
not yet within the pale of rivalry, to whom Pinkney was habitu- 
ally courteous and kind. It seemed to be a cherished object of 
his to win the good will of this class of his professional associates. 
He was to them the pleasant companion, full of condescensions and 
small civilities. He noticed their progress, praised their efforts, 
instructed, encouraged them, and almost invariably enlisted them 
in the support of his own renown. He was an eager sportsman 
in the field, untiring in a day's work with his gun ; an excellent 
shot, and studiously learned in all the technicals of this craft. 
This gave him acceptance and favor amongst another circle. He 
was profuse and splendid in his mode of living, utterly careless of 
expense, munificent and ostentatious. He was popular as a politi- 
cal champion, and rendered good service to his cause in some noted 
contests in Maryland, in which he was accustomed to meet the most 
etfective champions of a party distinguished for its talents and in- 
telligence. He had acquired a high standing in the country for his 
diplomatic service which had elevated him, in public opinion, both 
at home and abroad. He had served with conspicuous success 
as the Attorney General of the United States, in the administration 
of Mr. Madison. He w^as a zealous and ardent supporter of the 
war ; had taken a commission from the Executive of Maryland, 
and commanded a rifle battalion at the time of the invasion of the 
capital, and shared in the disaster at Bladensburg, where he was 
w^ounded in the fight. All these circumstances combined to draw 
upon him a large portion of public observation, and to attract, on 
one side, as much exaggerated praise, as, on another, to expose him 
VOL. 1—34* 



402 WILLIAM PINKNEY. [1815—1316. 

to the virulence of partizan antipathy or to the invidious reflection 
of personal rivalry and dislike. 

Pinkney's first accost raised an unt'avorable prepossession in 
Wirt's mind against him, as will be seen in the following letter, 
from which I make some extracts, — premising, what I have already 
hinted to the reader, that these opinions were greatly modified 
when the writer of this letter had more full opportunity to witness 
and appreciate the power of his opponent. We may regard the 
present comments as expressing the disappointment of one who 
had formed his judgment of oratory in an entirely different school 
from that of which he was now furnished a specimen. Nothing 
could be more diverse than the distinctive characters of the elo- 
quence of Pinkney and Wirt. The slow consent of one to admit 
the eminent claim of the other, was but a natural reluctance of 
opinion. 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, April 1, 1816. 
Mv Dear Francis : 

" I wish I had been trained to industry and method in the count- 
ing-room of a Scotch merchant from the age of twelve, and 
whipped out of those lazy and sauntering habits which fastened 
upon me about that age, and have held " the fee simple of the 
bark " ever since. Your truly great man does more business, and 
has more leisure and more peace of conscience and more positive 
happiness than any forty of your mediocre persons. This is 
humiliating to me, and I don't like to think of it. But, do yon 
profit by it, and habituate yourself to the practice of Mr. Jeffer- 
son's system. * * Make the axle glow with the 
ardor of your exercise, and the anvil ring with the vigor of your 
preparation. Teach these boys, — as Pinkney said he would do, — 
' a new style of speaking.' But let it be a better one than his ; 
I mean his solemn style, to which, in Irish phrase, 1 give the back 
of my hand. If that be a good style, then all the models both 
ancient and modern, which we have been accustomed to contem- 
plate as truly great, — such as Crassus, Anthony, Cicero, the pro- 
locutors of the Dialogue ' De Causis corruptae eloquentiae,' Chat- 



CHAP. XXII.] WIRT'S FIRST ESTIMATE OF HIM. 403 



ham, Henry, and others,— not forgetting ' Paul Jones and old 
Charon,' — are all pretenders. I know that this is not your opinion. 
But I was near him five or six weeks and watched him narrowly. 
He has nothing of the rapid and unerring analysis of Marshall,— 
but he has, in lieu of it, a dogmatizing absoluteness of manner 
which passes with the million, — which, by-the-bye, includes many 
more than we should at first suspect, — for an evidence of power ; 
and he has acquired with those around him a sort of papal 
infallibility. That manner is a piece of acting : it is artificial, as 
you may see by the wandering of his eye, and is as far removed 
from the composed confidence of enlightened certainty, as it is 
from natural modesty. Socrates confessed that all the knowledge 
he had been able to acquire seemed only to convince him that he 
knew nothing. This frankness is one of the most characteristic 
traits of a great mind. Pinkney would make you believe that he 

knows every thing. 

" At the bar he is despotic and cares as little for his col- 
leagues or adversaries as if they were men of wood. He has cer- 
tainly much the advantage of any of them in forensic show. Give 
him time — and he requires not much — and he will deliver a speech 
which any man might be proud to claim. You will have good 
materials, very well put together, and clothed in a costume as 
magnificent as that of Louis XIV.; but you will have a vast quan- 
tity of false fire, besides a vehemence of intonation for which you 
see nothing to account in the character of the thought. His argu- 
ments, when I heard him, were such as would have occurred to 
any good mind of the profession. It was his mode of introducing, 
dressing and incorporating them, which constituted their chief 
value — ' materiem superabit opus.' * * * * jj^ 

the cause in which we were engaged against each other, there 
never was a case more hopeless of eloquence since the world 
began. It was a mere question between the representatives of a 
dead collector and a living one, as to the distribution of the penalty 
of an embargo bond : — whether the representatives of the de- 
ceased collector, who had performed all the duties and recovered the 
judgment, or the living collector, who came in about the time the 
money was paid by the defendant into court, and had, therefore, 
done none of the duties, was entitled to the award. I was for the 
representatives of the deceased collector — Pinkney for the living 



404 SELF-CRITICISM. [1815—1816. 

one. You perceive that his client was a mere harpy, who had no 
merits whatever to plead. There were ladies present — and Pink- 
ney was expected to be eloquent at all events. So, the mode he 
adopted was to get into his tragical tone in discussing the con- 
struction of an act of Congress. Closing his speech in this solemn 
tone, he took his seat, saying to me, with a smile — ' that will do 
for the ladies.' * * # * jjg jg certainly not of 

the olden school." 

As a counterpart to this, Ave have a criticism of himself in the 
same cause, in a letter to Carr ; with some comment, besides, on 
his dramatic experiment, in regard to which his friend had shown 
himself a rather partial judge. 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, April 7, 1816. 
And can you, my beloved friend, who have known the very 
bottom and core of my heart so long and so intimately, — who have 
had a home in that heart for twenty years, suspect for one mo- 
ment, any decay of my affection for you.'^ No ! I cannot believe 
it possible. Indeed the very tone of this letter, which I have 
just received from you, assures me of the reverse, notwithstanding 
some half insinuations to the contrary. The truth is, if I had 
been satisfied with my own figure at Washington, you would have 
heard from me on the spot; but I was most dissatisfied. And good 
reason I had to be so — for it was a mean and sneaking figure 
I made in that cause; — and your friends either deceive you 
from kindness, or have been deceived themselves. I was never 
more displeased with any speech I have made since I com- 
menced practice. Having once argued the cause here, to my 
satisfaction, I relied upon my notes for recalling every topic to 
my mind ; and this the more especially, as the Court of Appeals 
held me under the lash to the very moment of my departure. But 
behold, when I was about to set out, my notes were nowhere to 
be found. My only hope then was that I should be able to recall 
the arguments by meditation in the stage ; and I determined to be 
very sour, sulky and silent to my fellow passengers, that I might 
abstract myself from them and have an opportunity of study ; but 



CHAP. XXII.] HIS ENCOUNTER WITH PINKNEY. 405 

this you know is not in my nature — and so I reached Alexandria 
without one idea upon the subject. My consolation then was that 
I should iiave one day in Washington before the cause came on, — 
and to eOect this, I left Alexandria when the stage arrived, at 
about ten o'clock on Tuesday night, and went on to Washington 
that night. I got to McQueen's about eleven. In two minutes 
after, Doctor F. came in, so delighted to see me that I could not 
find it in my heart to resist his earnest desire that 1 would sit with 
him and have a talk, because he had much to say to me of deep 
import to himself and had been longing for my arrival that he might 
unbosom himself to me. He thus kept me up till two o'clock. 
Immediately after breakfast I retired to my room, borrowed 
the acts of Congress, on which my cause arose, and had just 
seated myself to study, when several of my warm-hearted friends 
rushed into my room and held me engaged 'till court hour. So it 
was again in the evening; and so, on Thursday morning. In 
this hopeless situation I went to court to try the tug of war with 
the renowned Pinkney. When I thought of my situation, — of the 
theatre on which I was now to appear for the first time, — the ex- 
pectation which I was told was excited, and saw the assembled 
multitude of ladies and gentlemen from every quarter of the Union, 
you may guess my feelings. Had I been prepared, how should I 
have gloried in that theatre, that concourse, and that adversary ! 
As it was, my dear wife and children, and your features, look, and 
sympathetic voice and friendly inquietude, came over me like evil 
spirits. To be sure, these considerations gave me a sort of des- 
perate, ferocious, bandit-like resolution : but what is mere brute 
resolution with a totally denuded intellect .'' I gave, indeed, some 
hits which produced a visible and animating effect ; but my courage 
sank, and I suppose my manner fell under the conscious imbecility 
of my argument. I was comforted, however, by finding that 
Pinkney mended the matter very little, if at all. 

Had the cause been to argue over again on the next day, I could 
have shivered him ; for his discussion revived all my forgotten 
topics, and, as I lay in my bed on the following morning, argu- 
ments poured themselves out before me as from a cornucopia. 
I should have wept at the consideration of what I had lost, if I 
had not prevented it by leaping out of bed and beginning to sing 



406 DESIRES TO PRACTISE IN SUPREME COURT. [1815—1816. 

and dance like a maniac, — to the great diversion of F., who little 
suspected what was passing in my mind. 

This is all true. I know you will abuse me for it, but it is true 
still ; and I had rather be abused than to deceive you. 

I must somehow or other contrive to get another cause in that 
court, that I may siiew them I can do better. I should like to prac- 
tise there. For although you saj^, you believe I do not know my 
own strength, you will change that opinion when I tell you I am 
not afraid of any man on that arena, — not even of the Chevalier 
Pinkney, whom I would at any time rather encounter than Taze- 
well. Pinkney has, for the while, debauched the public taste by 
a false manner, just as Quin and his coadjutors of the old stage 
did, according to Cumberland's account. The misfortune is that 
there is no Garrick at Washington to raise the standard of nature. 
As to myself, I know that I have no pretensions to oratory. My 
manner, never carefully formed, has become too unalterably fixed 
to be improved at my time of life. Besides, I have not the off-hand 
fertility of thought, the prompt fecundity of invention, and the ex- 
temporaneous bloom of imagination, which are all essential to the 
orator. But I say again that, loith full preparation, I should not 
be afraid of a comparison with Pinkney, at any point, before 
genuine judges of correct debate. Now think me over modest, if 
you can. 

I regret extremely that the time of session of our Court of Ap- 
peals disables me from attending the Supreme Court : but if our 
Court adopt a plan which they talk of, — that is of having a summer 
and fall session, — I will try my luck at Washington as soon as I 
can get a cause or two, by way of commencement. So much for 
this great affair. * # # # * 

I protest against your measuring me by the standard of Sher- 
idan. He was a diamond wit, not only of the first water, but of 
the highest polish. He had the advantage of a constant attend- 
ance at the first theatre in Europe, where he saw the public taste 
tried by every variety of application. Compared with his, my 
opportunities are those of a back-woods' bear-hunter measured 
with those of the courtly Wickham. I am about as fit to rival 
Sheridan as a bat a towering eagle. I foresaw, from your frequent 
mention of Sheridan, what your mind was running on. If you have 
looked for his invention of comic incidents, his percussion and 



Chap, xxir.] letter to mr. jefferson. 407 

re-percussion of sprightly and brilliant dialogues, his delicate and 
varied tints of wit and humor, his splendid Hashes of fancy, you 
have been unreasonable, and are therefore justly punished by 
disappointment. 

******* 
1 need not tell you how sincerely I rejoice in the brilliancy of 
Frank's debut. The plainness of his manner, in particular, 
charms me. I was a little afraid he would be too fond of the 
pomp of expression, though I never doubted that experience and 
his own sound judgment would correct the error. That he should 
have gone otF right, is, therefore, so much the more pleasing. 
He is a fine fellow, and born, I hope to redeem the eloquence of 
the State. * * * * * * 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The biography was now approaching its completion. The author 
was manifestly disheartened by his work. His letters to his inti- 
mate friends are full of distrust upon the merits of his performance. 
He seems to have indulged this sentiment so far as almost to medi- 
tate the abandonment of the publication of the book. The coun- 
sel of Mr. Jefferson and others, cheered him, revived his confi- 
dence, and finally settled the point of committing the volume to 
the public. 

The following letters upon this subject, furnish some curious 
passages in literary history. 

to THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, August 24, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

I accept, with gratitude, the terms on which you are willing to 
remark on my manuscript; and send, herewith, three sections, 
ninety-one pages. 

There will be an advertisement prefixed to it, stating the 
authorities on which the narrative is founded, and appealing to 
the candor and indulgence of the public on account of the 
peculiar disadvantages under which the work has been written. 



408 DISSATISFIED WITH THE BIOGRAPHY. [1915—1816. 

This, I confess, is a kind of beggarly business which I abhor 
very much ; but I can still less bear to have it believed that the 
work is the offspring of profound leisure, and a mind at ease ; 
when tlie truth is that no one sheet of it, scarcely, has been writ- 
ten without half a dozen professional interruptions, which have 
routed my ideas as completely, each time, as Don Quixote's 
charge did the flock of sheep. I make no doubt you will perceive 
the chasms caused by these interruptions, and the incoherence, as 
well as crudeness, of the whole mass. 

When I was engaging with Webster, last summer, with respect 
to the publication, I refused expressly to bind myself to furnish it 
at any particular period, — foreseeing the extreme uncertainty as to 
the time of its completion, from the interference of professional 
duties, and wishing to reserve to myself, also, full leisure, to 
revise, correct, and retrench at pleasure. But he has made such 
an appeal to my humanity, on account of the expensiveness of the 
materials which he has laid in for the publication, and his inability 
to remain longer without some reimbursement, that I am much 
disposed to let the work go, in its present general form, if you 
think it can be done without too much sacrifice. 

What I mean is, that I think the whole work might be recast 
to advantage. But then, it must be written wholly aneWj Avhich 
would ill suit Webster's alleged situation : my disposition, there- 
fore, is to let the form of the w^ork remain, connecting the com- 
position, statements, &c., where it shall be suggested and thought 
proper. 

If you think the publication of the work, will do me an injury 
with the public, I beg you to tell me so, without any fear of 
wounding my feelings. I am so far from being in love with it 
myself, that I should be glad of a decent retreat from the under- 
taking. I confide implicitly in your frankness and friendship, — 
and beg you to believe me, dear sir, with the greatest respect 
and affection, 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAP. XXII.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFERSON. 409 

THOMAS JEFFERSON TO WILLIAM WIRT. 

MoNTicELLO, September 4, 1816. 
Dear Sir: 

I have read, Avith great delight, the portion of the history oi' 
Mr. Henry which you have been so kind as to favor me with, and 
wliich is now returned. And I can say, from my own knowledge 
of the contemporary characters introduced into the canvass, that 
you have given them quite as much lustre as themselves would 
have asked. The exactness, too, of your details, has in several in- 
stances corrected the errors in my own recollections, where they 
had begun to falter. 

In result, I scarcely find anything needing revisal ; yet, to show 
you that I have scrupulously sought occasions of animadversion, 1 
will particularize the following passages, which I noted as I read 
them. 

Page 11: I think this passage had better be moderated. That 
Mr. Henry read Livy through once a year is a known impossi- 
bility with those who knew him. He may have read him once, 
and some general history of Greece ; but certainly not twice. A 
first reading of a book he could accomplish sometimes and on 
some subjects, but never a second. He knew well the geography 
of his own country, but certainly never made any other his study. 
So, as to our ancient charters ; he had probably read those in 
Stith's history ; but no man ever more undervalued chartered 
titles than himself He drew all natural rights from a purer 
source — the feelings of his own breast. # # # * 

He never, in conversation or debate, mentioned a hero, a 
worthy, or a fact in Greek or Roman history, but so vaguely and 
loosely as to leave room to back out, if he found he had blundered. 

The study and learning ascribed to him, in this passage, would 
be inconsistent with the excellent and just picture given of his 
indolence through the rest of the work. 

Page 33, line 4 : Inquire further into the fact alleged that 
Henry was counsel for Littlepage. I am much persuaded he was 
counsel for Dandridge. There was great personal antipathy be- 
tween him and Littlepage, and the closest intimacy with Dand- 
ridge, who was his near neighbor, in whose house he was at home 
VOL. 1—35 



410 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. [1S15— 1816. 



as one of the family, who was his earliest and greatest admirer 
and patron, and whose daughter became afterwards his second 
wife. 

It was in his house that, during a course of Christmas festivi- 
ties, I first became acquainted with Mr. Henry. This, it is true, 
is but presumptive evidence, and may be over-ruled by direct 
proof But I am confident he could never have undertaken any 
case against Dandridge ; considering the union of their bosoms, it 
would have been a great crime.* 

****** 

Accept the assurance of my constant friendship and respect, 

Th. Jefferson. 

In a reply to this letter, Wirt, in sending Mr. Jefferson some 
additional portions of the book, remarks: — 

" I can tell you with very great sincerity that you have removed 
a mountain-load of despondency from my mind, by the assurance 
that you could find entertainment in these sheets. 

******* 

" I entreat you not to spare your remarks on account of the 
defacement of the manuscript. I had rather commence it de novo 
than lose the advantage of your freest criticisms. If you think 
the narrative too wire- drawn or the style too turgid — points, 
about which I have myself strong fears — I depend on your friend- 
ship to tell me so. Much better will it be to learn it from you, in 
time to correct it, than from the malignity of reviewers when it 
shall be too late." 

Some weeks after this he wrote the following: 



WILLIAM WIRT TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, October 23, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

I now submit to you the last sheets of my sketches of Mr. 
Henry, which I am sorry to find more numerous than I expected ; 
and I pray you to forgive the great trouble which I am sincerely 
ashamed of having imposed on you. 

* There were other corrections of minor errors suggested in this letter which are 
omitted. 



CHAP. XXII.] ON THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. 411 

Your remarks have been of great service to me, not only by 
enabling me to correct mistakes in fact, but by putting me on a 
severe inquisition of my style, which I am perfectly aware is too 
prone to exuberance. 

I am afraid that the whole plan is too loose, and the narrative 
too diffuse. Has it struck you in this light, and do you think it 
would gain, in point of animation and interest, by retrenchment 
and compression? 

I have another question to ask, to which I entreat an unreserved 
answer ; and I hope you think too well of my understanding to 
suppose that I shall be hurt by the answer, whatever it may be. 
Would you, as a friend, advise me to publish this book, or not.-* 
It has been written under circumstances so extremely disadvan- 
tageous, amid such perpetual interruptions arising from my pro- 
fession — at almost every step, too, invita minerva, — and I peruse it 
myself with so little satisfaction, that I am seriously apprehensive 
it may make shipwreck of what little reputation I possess as a 
writer, 

I am not obliged to publish ; and I shall be governed, on this 
head, by the advice of my friends, who must, from the nature of 
things, be much better qualified to judge of the subject than I am. 
They, I hope and believe, think too justly of me to withhold 
the expression of their opinions from motives of delicacy. 

Your repose shall never be endangered by any act of mine, if 
I can help it. Immediately on the receipt of your last letter, and 
before the manuscript had met any other eye, I wrote over again 
the whole passage relative to the first Congress, omitting the marks 
of quotation, and removing your name altogether from the com- 
munication. 

If there be any other passage for which I have quoted you, and 
which you think may provoke the strictures of malice or envy, I 
beg that you will be so good as to suggest it. I am conscious of 
having made a very free use of your communications. It was 
natural for me to seek to give this value to my work. But it 
would be most painful to me to be, in any manner, instrumental in 
subjecting you to the renewed attacks of your political enemies. 
It is not enough for me that you despise these attacks : I have no 
right, much less have I the disposition, to make this call upon 
your fortitude. And, besides, the shaft which cannot reach you. 



412 MR. JEFFERSON'S OPINION OF IT. [1815-1816. 

never fails to wound and irritate your friends. This was one of 
the leading; causes which made me anxious to submit my manu- 
script to you first. 

Quere. — Have I not quoted some passages from you, of which 
the descendants of our landed aristocracy may take it into their 
heads to complain ? 

This did not occur to me till Mr. William H. Cabell (than 
whom you have not a warmer friend) made the suggestion. I 
have great dependence on his judgment; and if the matter occurs 
to you in the same light, I will send up again the sheets which 
contain those quotations, and get the favor of you to alter them to 
your own taste. 

You will perceive that I have borne very lightly on the errors 
of Mr. Henry's declining years. He did us much good in his 
better days; and no evils have resulted from his later aberrations. 
Will not his biographer, then, be excusable in drawing i)jc veil 
over them, and holding up the brighter side of his character, only, 
to imitalion.' 

Most respectfully and affectionately, 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 



THOMAS JEFFERSON TO WILLIAM WIRT. 

Poplar Forest, November 12, 1816. 
Dear Sir: 

Yours of October 23d, was received here on the 31st, with the 
last sheets of your work. 

They found me engaged in a business which could not be post- 
poned, and have therefore been detained longer than I wished. 

On the subject of our ancient aristocracy, I believe I have said 
nothing which all who knew them will not confirm, and which 
their reasonable descendants may not learn from every quarter. 
It was the etfect of the large accumulation of property under the 
law of entails. 

The suppression of entails reduced the spirit of the rich, while 
the increased influence given by the new government to the peo- 
ple, raised theirs, and brought things to their present level, from a 



CHAP. XXII.J RECOMMENDS THE PUBLICATION. 413 



condition which the present generation, who have not seen it, can 
scarcely believe or conceive. 

You ask if I think your work would be the better of retrench- 
ment ? By no means. I have seen nothing in it whicii could be 
retrenched but to disadvantage. And again, whether, as a friend, 
I would advise its publication ? On that question, I have no hesi- 
tation — on your own account, as well as that of the public. To 
the latter, it will be valuable ; and honorable to yourself. 

You must expect to be criticised ; and, by a former letter I see 
you expect it. By the Quarterly Reviewers you will be hacked 
and hewed, with tomahawk and scalping knife. Those of Edin- 
burgh, with the same anti-American prejudices, but sometimes 
considering us as allies against their administration, will do it more 
decently. 

They will assume, as a model for biography, the familiar man- 
ner of Plutarch, or scanty matter of Nepos, and try you, perhaps, 
by these tests. But they can only prove that your style is dif- 
ferent from theirs ; not that it is not good. 

I have always very much despised the artificial canons of criti- 
cism. When I have read a work in prose or poetry, or seen a 
painting, a statue, etc., I have only asked myself whether it gives 
me pleasure, whether it is animating, interesting, attaching .'' If it 
is, it is good for these reasons. On these grounds you will be 
safe. Those who take up your book, will find they cannot lay it 
down ; and this will be its best criticism. 

You have certainly practised vigorously the precept of "de mor- 
tuis nil nisi bonum." This presents a very difficult question, — 
whether one only or both sides of the medal should be presented. 
It constitutes, perhaps, the distinction between panegyric and 
history. On this, opinions are much divided — and, perhaps, may 
be so on this feature of your w'ork. On the whole, however, you 
have nothing to fear; at least if my views are not very different 
from the common. And no one will see its appearance with more 
pleasure than myself, as no one can, with more truth, give you 
assurances of great respect and affectionate attachment. 

Th. Jefferson. 



TOL. 1 — 35* 



414 LETTERS TO POPE AND MORRIS. [1815—1816. 



I close this chapter with two letters, in part referring to the 
biography. The first is to Mr. Pope ; the other to an esteemed 
friend in Hanover county, whose taste and accomplishments ren- 
dered him a most competent critic upon the subjects to which it 
refers. They both give us an insight into the author's apprehen- 
sion of the perils to which he was about to expose himself by the 
publication of his book. 



TO WILLIAM POPE. 

Richmond, September 24, 1816. 
Mv Dear Friend: 

Although over my head in business, I cannot receive, in silence, 
your affectionate letter of the 12th. I have been hitherto very 
ungrateful, — in appearance, though not in feeling and in fact, — for 
those eff'usions of friendship with which you have honored me by 
mail -, but I have relied on your indulgence and forgiveness, know- 
ing as you do how my head is kept spinning by the multiplicity 
and variety of my engagements ; and I have relied, too, on your 
knowledge of the true state of my sentiments towards you, to 
prevent any unfriendly conclusions from apparent neglect. For 
you know that my affections can never neglect you ; you know 
that of all the mortals I have ever encountered in this pilgrimage, 
you are " the Israelite without guile," and the tenant of my heart's 
core •, so why should we say more upon this subject ? 

I am extremely gratified by the pleasure you express, in reading 
those pages of my manuscript. I am dashing on and hope to close 
my toils before the 10th of next month. Many a weary league 
have I travelled with old Patrick. I wish my readers may be 
willing to travel alter me ; for, in truth, " I don't think it clever, 
much ; " and if they are only half as much fatigued in reading as I 
have been in writing it, adieu to Lochaber ! — " Othello's occu- 
pation's gone ! " As for you and Bullock and Clarke, (for Clarke 
has been here, too, with swimming eyes,) you are all so partial to 
the subject and the writer, that there is no forming any conclusions 
as to the probable opinion of the world, from your feelings. " In 
this cold world of ours," as the song goes, I must expect a very 
different reception, — captious criticism and a predisposition to 



CHAP. XXII.] LETTERS TO POPE AND MORRIS. 415 

find fault. But the die will soon be finally cast, and we shall 
know our fate with certainty. As to J. T., I shall do my duty, 
and let him do his worst. Patrick shall have justice, if 1 can give 
it to him, let who will be offended, — and after tiiat, " the hardest 
must fend off." 

I wish I could accompany you to see the two generals : — they 
are both favorites with me, — but I must decline all visiting for this 
fall. Business first, and then pleasure, is my maxim. And this 
same biography has encroached so much on my professional 
duties, that I shall be hard put to it to bring up the lee-way. But 
as to our trips to Norfolk and Washington, I shall call upon you 
to keep your promise when the time comes. I wish I may not 
then find you " a fairy promiser of joy." If we live till next fall, 
and all is well, I hope we shall be able to make out a visit to our 
friend Dabney Carr in Winchester. What say you to that .-' 
Think of the grandeur of the mountains, and the fertility of the 
rallies, and the transparency of the limestone water, and of the 
pleasure our friends there will have in seeing us. Dabney and 
Frank Gilmer, Henry Tucker's long chin, and Hugh Holmes' 
wide mouth, not forgetting those thick lips of his, employed in 
singing the celebrated old English ballad of " The pigs," &c. 

We are all well, except our infant, who has been very sick 
but thank Heaven, is now nearly restored. My wife and children 
unite with me in affectionate compliments to Mrs. P., Lucy Ann 
and yourself; and I am, as I ever have been, " your loving friend 
till death us do part." 

Wm. Wirt. 



WILLIAM WIRT TO RICHARD MORRIS, ESQ. 

Richmond, January 19, 1817. 
" You are heartily welcome, brother Sliandy, though it were 
twice as much : " — but are you not a shabby fellow, to return the 
manuscript, without aiding me with a single criticism .-* If I 
thought you considered me so paltry a fellow as to be wounded 
by the strictures of my friends, I should renounce you extempore. 
1 will not permit myself to suspect this, because it would pain 



416 WIRT'S OWN VIEW OF HIS BOOK. [1S15— 1816. 



me much if one who knows me so well should think so ill both of 
my modesty and understanding. 

Sir, had you appealed to my friendship in a like case, I would 
have given it to you, " hip and thigh." " Your book," I would 
have said, sir, (if I had thought so) "may do well enough in Vir- 
ginia, where the subject itself has interest enough to keep your 
chin above the water : but in other states, and more especially in 
foreign parts, I doubt you will be damned. You have not the 
style of narrative — your manner is not familiar and easy enough — 
your sentences ricketty and stiff-jointed ; — besides, there are too 
frequent efforts to give importance to trifles. You will pardon 
me, but your book abounds with many striking specimens of the 
false sublime; — your incidents are not detailed with sufficient 
spirit; — they are frequently encumbered with a quantity of 
trite historical lumber, which causes the narrative to drag, and 
the reader to yawn. We lose sight of Henry in wading through 
your marshes. The speeches that you give as his, contradict 
your own pompous descriptions of his eloquence. Upon the 
whole, I must confess that I was painfully disappointed in your 
work ; — there are parts of it, to be sure, which gratified me, — but 
as a whole, trust me, it is but a poor thing — and neither calculated 
to advance the fame of the author or of his hero." And then, 
sir, I would have proceeded to give specifications of these 
charges. For instance : — " page 40, paragraph the 2d : — much ado 
about nothing — it sounds to me very much like nonsense." — " Page 
60 — paragraph the 1st: — this is intended for pathos — the Dutch 
pronounce the word fcathos," &c. &c. " Finally, sir, my advice 
to you, as a friend, is not to publish the book ; believe me, 
it will rob you even of the little standing you have, and cheapen 
both Mr. Henry and yourself in the public estimation." This is 
the way, sir, I should have treated you — and I should have ex- 
pected you to cry " thank'e .?" at every slash of my surgical knife. 

Now, Morris, whether you will believe me or not, the hypo- 
thetic strictures which I have just made, are, in sober sadness, the 
very remarks to which I fear my book is liable. Yet no one will 
tell me so, till I read them in some review. From those of my 
friends who are more remarkable for warm and affectionate hearts 
than acuteness of intellect, 1 look naturally for eulogium only ; 
and I iiave not been disappointed — their partiality for me blinding 



CHAP. XXri.] HIS COMPLAINT OF HIS FRIENDS. 417 



them to the faults of the work. Even from friends of greater 

acuteness, I should not be surprised if a false and unkind delicacy 

for my feelings, should dispose them to conceal their objections. 

But you are one of those men from whose sturdier and nobler 

caste both of friendship and character, I expected to hear the 

naked truth, with all the frankness, and even bluntness, of Kent in 

Shakspeare's Lear. Instead of which, you come out upon me with 

a short letter, which, to be sure, is most kind and obliging, but 

which deals in generals, and gives me no specific instruction 

whatever. Sir, you are not to escape me thus. I have you up 

before the court, a witness upon oath, and I will torture you by 

cross-examination Hill I get the whole truth out of you : — so you 

might as well let it come at once. Cast your eyes, then, upon the 

aforesaid hypothetic strictures, wherein, if you will take the trouble 

to analyze, you will discover a specification of my own doubts and 

fears on this subject. Answer me to these, head hy head, on the 

oath you have taken — " and then proceed with a statement of all 

you know respecting the points in issue." If you do not this, I 

shall say you are no better than you should be. 



* 



Will you tender to Mrs. Morris my affectionate compliments— 
and request her, in my behalf, to make you answer this letter as 
early as your convenience will permit, promising her, in return, 
that though / have suffered a temporary relapse to the heresy of 
snuff-taking, I will not give you a pinch without her consent. 

God bless you, 

Wm. Wirt. 



END OF VOL. I. 



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